


Hallmark Christmas Movie

by fullofleaves



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17029965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofleaves/pseuds/fullofleaves
Summary: When a series of mishaps strands New York City real estate developer Tony Stark in the small town of Asgard, Minnesota, he's forced to accept his fate of spending Christmas with mayor Thor Odinson.  And also with Thor's unfortunately familiar yet still infuriatingly attractive brother, Loki.  A bunch of charming and inevitable feel-good holiday tropes ensue as Tony comes to realize the value of true holiday cheer and helps save a small town Christmas.





	1. Asgard, Minnesota

**Author's Note:**

> I forced a bot (read: myself) to watch over one hundred hours of Hallmark Christmas movies and then this happened when I should've been working on better and more important things.

Rolling over with a lazy groan, Tony Stark smiles at the man in bed next to him.  And tries to remember the name.  Something unusual.  Obscure.  Foreign.  _Loki._   Bingo.  “That was... really great.”

Whether or not Loki smiles in return is up for debate.  Maybe it’s a smile.  Maybe more of a predatory smirk.  Either way, he sits up, pushing his tangled black hair back from his face.  “Certainly more enjoyable than spending yet another dull winter night watching TV at home,” he says.

“Oh yeah?  Is that usually how people spend their time around here?”

“It’s a small town.  Quality entertainments are, shall we say... limited.”

Tony could believe that.  Only three days in this place and already he’s looking forward to the glittering excitement of a two-hour drive back to the airport on his way home.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Anyway-”

“Anyway,” Loki interrupts, climbing out of bed and reaching for his pile of discarded clothes on the floor.  “It’s late.  More snow is coming down by the minute.  I should be going.”

He pulls on his pants and shirt with the kind of haste only ever seen in people trying to make a quick exit from a one night stand before things got weird.  Which is understandable, given the circumstances, since Tony’s pretty sure they were no more than ten minutes away from reaching the weird point.  The point where one of them has to man up, take control, and make up a dumb excuse why they absolutely under no circumstances can spend the night together and whoops, it’s time to go.

Only.  The thing is.  That’s always Tony’s job.  Tony’s always the one who takes control of the situation and tells whoever it is in his bed that they need to make a discreet yet immediate exit.  Tony, therefore, should be the one currently telling Loki all about how much it’s snowing and how he should be on his merry way.

“Uh... right,” Tony says, sitting upright.  Because it’s hard to feel in control of anything while lounging in a pile of disarrayed sheets.  He checks his phone on the bedside table.  “Yeah, it’s quarter after two.  Pretty late.”  Only one way to salvage things and regain the upper hand.  “Let me give you some money for a cab.”

Loki smirks again.  Definitely predatory.  “That’s very thoughtful, Tim, but my Escalade is parked just out front.”

It’s hard to say what’s more infuriating about that sentence: the intentionally wrong name (which Tony _knows_ Loki knows is wrong, because the right name was definitely used several times within the last half hour), or the unnecessary reference to the stupid type of pretentious car Loki drives.  “Huh.  I almost bought an Escalade once.  Those were pretty popular about ten years ago.”

“In New York City?  That sounds impractical.  Out here one needs the utility for the snow and rough roads, but I think if I lived in New York I’d have something more like a ... what was that I saw you with earlier?  A Toyota Corolla?”

“Yeah, the rental selection at the airport was a little limited,” Tony growls.  “It was that or look like somebody’s cool grandpa in a Chrysler Sebring convertible.  Anyway.  You were leaving?”

“I was leaving,” Loki confirms with that same annoying smirk-smile.  “Thank you for a lovely evening.  I’d say we should do it again, but you’re going back to New York in the morning, so...”

Tony nods.  “I am going back to New York.  But hey,” he says, picking up his phone to enter a number he’ll later make a point of never calling.  “Maybe I can look you up next time I’m in town.  What’s your number?  And I feel like a real dick for admitting this, but I’ve totally forgotten your name.”

“Mmm.”  Buttoning his coat as he walks, Loki crosses the room to stand at Tony’s bedside.  Gracefully, he leans in.  Even more gracefully, he presses one feathery kiss to Tony’s cheek.  And whispers, “No you haven’t.”

ooo

It’s probably Loki’s fault that Tony has a shitty sleep.

Actually, no.  It’s _absolutely_ Loki’s fault that Tony has a shitty sleep.  And, as a result, it’s _absolutely_ Loki’s fault that Tony wakes up grumpy and residually pissed off from spending the night rolling over restlessly in bed and thinking up a whole armada of amazingly witty comebacks and cutting insults just a few minutes or hours too late.

His breakfast consists of three cups of coffee and a dumb, festive cranberry muffin from the motel’s lobby.  On December 22nd, everything, right down to the food, is decorated for Christmas.  Wreaths on every door.  Candles on every table.  Garlands on every window.  One giant tree in the corner, and seven other smaller trees all within Tony’s immediate sightline.  Something smells like cinnamon.

Outside is more of the same: fiberglass bells and stars on every lamp post, lights on every building, greenery and tinsel stuck up wherever it’ll fit.  Smiling neighbors greeting each other in front of every homey, small-town shop.  With a thick, fluffy covering of snow on the ground and a bright blue sky overhead, Main Street in Asgard, Minnesota, could be a picture postcard of America’s Quaintest Town™.

Tony might even think it was nice if he weren’t so tired, annoyed, and generally disinterested in Christmas spirit.

Just as he grabs his phone out of his pocket to check the time, a familiar red truck pulls into the parking lot.  Thor Odinson, mayor of Asgard, waves to Tony through the window.

“It’s a cold one today!” Thor says, loudly, as he climbs down from the oversized truck.  In Tony’s experience, he says everything loudly.  “You’re lucky to be heading out now.  Supposed to snow overnight then drop down to minus forty for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that temperature exists in New York,” Tony replies, to which Thor laughs.  Also in Tony’s experience, Thor laughs at everything remotely clever.

“Well, I won’t keep you long.  I know you have to drive all the way back to Duluth for your flight.  So here’s everything signed, with all the revised permits, and everything else you should need from the town council to go ahead with the final phase.  Have a quick look through and make sure it’s all there.”

He hands over a festive red folder, which Tony quickly leafs through, already regretting his choice not to put on gloves even to stand outside for only five minutes.  It all looks good.  Everything in order, and all the necessary signatures on the paperwork.  “Yep, seems complete.”

“Anything else you need from me before you go?”

“No, this should be it.  I’ll file all these with my legal team and we should be good to go until the final inspection.  And from what I saw at the site yesterday, I’d say we’re still on track to open in June.”

Thor nods.  “Great.  Great.  And you’ll be back for that?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Alright then.  You have a safe drive, and you have my number in case anything comes up.”

“Thanks.”

Tony holds out his hand, and immediately regrets it, because somehow Thor’s fuzzy mittens are covered in snow.

“Oh, and, Tony?” Thor says before getting back in his truck.  “On behalf of the town of Asgard, I just wanted to express my gratitude to you and the whole team at Stark Developments for choosing us as the site of your new resort.  It means a lot to us to have this new opportunity and all the business that comes along with it.  Especially since the paper mill shut down.  Things have been tough around here for the past three years, but...  construction on the Valhalla Lake Lodge has already made a big difference in creating jobs and turning things around for a lot of the people in town.  And I think things’ll just keep getting better once it opens.  Thank you.”

“...You’re welcome,” Tony says, allowing one quick, tight smile.  Heartfelt emotion never was his thing, and he sure didn’t get into the real estate development business for any reason other than to make money.  Being thanked for exploiting a small town’s picturesque setting just feels awkward.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah.  Uh, you too.”

Thor waves again as he climbs into the truck.  And thus with all his business in Asgard wrapped up, it’s time for Tony to head out.

Predictably, his phone rings the minute he fastens his seatbelt.  Call display says Pepper Potts.  And of course he has to answer it the old fashioned way like a barbarian, because nothing is synched to this damn rental car.  “If you’re calling to make sure I’m on my way to the airport...” he says.

“Are you?” she asks.

Well.  He’s in the car with the intention to begin driving any second now.  Same thing.  “Of course.  Contrary to popular belief, I _can_ actually function without you from time to time.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.  Anyway.  I checked you in and your boarding passes should be in your email.  Both flights are on time so far, but Chicago’s been dicey all day so that could change.  I have text alerts set up and can forward anything to you if your connection is delayed.  I also have a car booked to pick you up at LaGuardia at quarter after nine.  Do you need me to send anything with the driver?”

“Nah, I should be fine.”

“What about the permits?  Do you need me to file anything before I leave today?”

“No, but let’s set up a meeting with the lawyers for Monday afternoon.”

There’s a pause on the other end.  “...Tony, that’s Christmas Eve,” Pepper says.

“Yeah, and it’s a business day.”

“I’m pretty sure not even lawyers want to have a meeting on Christmas Eve.”

“Fine,” he groans.  “The twenty-sixth then.”

“Twenty-seventh,” Pepper counters.

He’s not going to win this.  He just knows it.  “Why?  Do you have secret plans I don’t know about?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m going out of town to stay with my parents, and I don’t really want to cut my _two days of vacation_ short just for one meeting.”

“Twenty-seventh it is,” Tony sighs.

“Don’t you have any Christmas plans?”

“Of course I do.  I plan to drink the expensive scotch I’ll inevitably receive as a Christmas gift from one of our business partners, order Chinese, and binge-watch my annual Star Wars marathon.”

“Wow, drinking alone,” she says.  “You know, if you want, I’m sure you’d be welcome to-”

He cuts her off before that goes any further.  “Nope, I don’t want.  I am very set in my Scrooge-like ways.  So you just set up that meeting, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“If you say so.  Enjoy your flight.”

“Pepper, I’m on a regional jet connecting through O’Hare.  Nobody enjoys that.”

“Then enjoy complaining about it later.  Bye, Tony.”

He ends the call, but checks his email before putting his phone back in his pocket.  A message from Pepper awaits as promised with his boarding passes.  Good.  Everything in order.  Business trip to the literal middle of nowhere, Minnesota, complete.  (Actually, is it even the middle?  The middle is probably closer than where this places is.  This is more like the farthest possible extreme northern edge of nowhere.)

He starts the car, backs out of the hotel parking lot, and heads out on the first leg of a long journey back to New York.

ooo

By the time the state patroller finally walks up to the car window, Tony’s about 95% along the way to having a complete mental breakdown right there at the steering wheel.  He’s been sitting in an unmoving lineup of vehicles at a roadblock for over forty minutes.  His flight leaves in three hours.  Duluth is still over an hour and a half away.  He doesn’t have time for... whatever this is.

“Morning,” the officer says as Tony rolls down the window.

“Hi, yeah,” Tony replies.  “Is this going to be much longer?”

“There’s a bad accident about a mile up ahead.  Truck hit an icy patch, lost control, and sideswiped another truck coming up the opposite direction.  So we got both lanes blocked and no way to move the trucks until the heavy duty tow crew gets here.”

“And how long with that be?”

The officer shrugs.  “An hour at least?  But it’ll be more like two or three before we can get the highway cleared.  So we’re recommending everybody turn around, go back north through Asgard, and then take the-”

“Yeah, the thing is,” says Tony, struggling with every ounce of strength he has not to let loose a stream of expletives.  “I’m on my way to the airport and don’t have time to go back and take a detour.  Is it possible to just kind of... squeeze by on the shoulder or something?”

“Sorry sir, that’s not safe.  You have to go back to-”

“Okay then what if I just... uh...”  The stupidest, craziest plans always pop into his head when he’s in a crunch.  “What if I call a taxi to meet me on the other side, and I _walk_ through?”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“I need to get to the airport.  This is an emergency.”

“I understand, but the highway is shut down.  You have to-”

“Can _you_ drive me?  I know you can get past this blockade.”

Okay that suggestion was even stupider than walking.  The officer gives him a _look_.  “Sir, I need to ask you to turn your vehicle around and drive back the way you came.  The road is closed.  Sorry for any inconvenience.”

As the patroller moves on to speak to the next car down the line, Tony drops his head against the back of his hands on the steering wheel.  What he really needs to do right now is not let all this shit get to him, but that’s proving kind of hard to do as each second ticks by and the SUV in front of him poorly executes a slow nine-point turn to head back north.  The weight of reality pushes down on his shoulders like a precariously balanced mass.  _Shit._   There’s really only one thing to do, now that driving, sneaking, walking, and hitching a ride in a patrol car are off the table.

He pulls out his phone and calls Pepper.  It goes straight to voicemail.

“Pepper.  Hi.  It’s me.  Uhhhhh.”  Funny how his voice sounds a lot calmer than he feels.  “There’s some kind of delay on the highway and... yeah.  I’m going to miss my flight.  There’s no way I’m getting to the airport in time.  Can you rebook something for tomorrow morning?  Give me a call when you get this.  I’m heading back to Asgard.”

ooo

Naturally, Pepper calls back at the worst possible moment: right in the middle of Tony being given a wilting look of pity by the hotel clerk who’s just told him there are no rooms available.

“Hi,” he says, and this time his voice sounds every bit as calm as he feels.  Which is to say, not in the least.  “Can you hold on a sec?  I need to deal with something.”  To the clerk: “Can you look again?  I just checked out two hours ago.  I don’t care if they haven’t cleaned the room yet.  I only need to stay here one more night.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” says the desk clerk, still giving him that look like his dog just died.  “Two other guests have already come back due to the highway closure, and we’re completely full for Christmas.  Do you want me to call over to the Sage Creek Inn and see if they have any availability?”

“Yes.  Please do that.  Any available room is fine.”  He goes back to Pepper.  “Okay.  What do you have for me?”

“Well, you’re lucky.”

“I’m really not feeling that right now, but go on.”

“There’s one seat available tomorrow at noon.  I’m booking it for you now.  What happened?”

“I don’t know,” he groans.  “Some accident with trucks hitting an icy patch.  I didn’t see it, but it shut the highway down in both directions.”

“Okay.  Well.  Your flight change is complete, and your new itinerary is on its way to your inbox.  Can I suggest you give yourself ample time to drive tomorrow?”

“Pepper, believe me, I will be leaving this place as soon as humanly possible, with the intention of getting to the airport at 7 am tomorrow to spend several hours sitting there bored out of my mind.”

“Good.  Do you need anything else?”

 Yes.  Many things.  There are many things Tony needs, like an available hotel room and a few (dozen) drinks.  But those aren’t things Pepper can help with.  “No.  Flight’s fine.  Thanks, Pepper.”

“Call me if anything else happens.”

“I hope not.  Bye.”

The desk clerk, when he turns back to her, is still wearing that pitiful dead dog expression.  Tony lets out a long sight.  “Sage Creek doesn’t have anything, do they?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says through a sad-eyed frown.

“Are there any other hotels in town?”

“Just us and them.  The nearest place I know of to call would be down in Rockyvale, but...”

But that’s on the other side of the highway blockade.  Of course.  “Right.  Well.  Let’s just think about this for a second.  Do you have a... a waitlist?  Or something like that?”

“We don’t have anything official, but I could keep your name in case something comes up and one of our reservations cancels?”

“Yes please.”  That’s a start.  But still leaves too much to chance.  “What about a...”  Looking around the lobby, hunting and scraping for any thread of an idea he pushes his hair back from his forehead.  “Do you have a meeting room or banquet hall or anything I could wheel a cot into?  I don’t care about the cost.  Anything.  Literally anything.  A supply closet.  A room that’s undergoing renovation.  An office.”

The dead dog look again.  “It’s against fire code,” she tells him.  “We’re not allowed to let guests sleep anywhere other than in the designated rooms.”

Yeah, Tony knew that.  But he’s running short on crazy suggestions.  “...A heated garage where I could sleep in my car?”

“Do you know anyone in town?  Any friends or family?”

“I know... one person...” Tony mutters.

“Why don’t you give them a call?  I think that might be your best option for tonight.”

It might be his _only_ option.  Son of a bitch.  He’s stuck in Asgard, and there’s only one person in the entire dumb town he can think of to call.

Much as it pains him to do it, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts for Thor Odinson.

ooo

“Ironic isn’t it?” Thor calls to Tony with that stupidly good-natured smile as Tony gets out of his car in the driveway of the Odinson residence: a snow-covered acreage a few minutes from the town center.  “Your company builds hotels, and yet there’s no place in town for you to stay!”

“Yep, how about that,” Tony replies.

“I think this proves beyond a doubt how much the area needs the Valhalla Lake Lodge.  Too bad it’s not open yet.”

“Mm.  Too bad.”

To be fair, Tony _did_ consider driving out to the building site.  It crossed his mind more than once.  And apart from the fact that the Lodge currently had unfinished plumbing, no heat, no electricity, no flooring, and no furniture, it’d be an ideal place to stay the night.

“Let me take your bag,” Thor says, and he grabs the suitcase right out of Tony’s hand before Tony can say anything.  “There’s a plug you can use on the blue cord coming from the garage.”

“A what?” Tony asks, but Thor’s already disappeared inside with the suitcase.

Whatever.  He kicks the snow off his shoes at the mat at the top of the steps and shuts the door behind him.

Inside the house is... well, it’s more or less exactly what he was picturing it might be.  All craftsman woodworking as far as the eye can see, from the staircase railing to the door frames to the kitchen cabinets just visible down the hall ahead.  Cream carpet in the family room to the left, hardwood flooring in the formal sitting room to the right.  There’s even some floral wallpaper.

And, naturally, a massive (real) Christmas tree in the front window.  Red candles on the mantle above the wood-burning fire, and two stockings on either side.  One says ‘Thor’ in quaint, hand-cut red felt letters on a white fur cuff.  And the other? 

Tony’s stomach plunges down to sit somewhere near his ankles.

The other stocking says ‘Loki’.

 _It couldn’t possibly be._   But with the way Tony’s luck has been going...  Does he even want to ask?

Thor’s footsteps trample loudly down the stairs.  “Come on in!  Take your coat off.  You can hang it on the tree right there.”

“Oh... right...”  Tony shrugs off his coat, but that doesn’t do anything to alleviate the awkward, hot prickle making its way down his back.  He has to ask.  He has to ask now when he still has a chance to get out.  “Um.  These are... these are nice Christmas decorations you have here.”

Thor beams.  “Thank you!  A lot of them are, oh, I’d have to say... seventy, eighty years old?  Belonged to my grandparents, who brought them over from Norway.  My brother and I still put them up every year.  It’s a family tradition.”

“Brother,” echoes Tony.  _Brother_ sounds better than some of the alternatives he’d been fearing.  _Brother_ sounds like somebody who probably looks like Thor: a wholesome, football-playing farm boy with shaggy blond hair.  Not a dangerously attractive, black-haired weasel.

“Loki?” Thor yells at the back of the house.  “You in the kitchen?  Let me introduce you to my friend.”

Maybe Loki is a common name around these parts.  There was another guy named Thor on the building crew, so it’s not impossible.  _Please let Loki be a common name around these parts_ , Tony silently prays at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

But then a dangerously attractive, black-haired weasel appears in the hallway, and what had until that point only been one of the worst days in Tony’s recent memory firmly launches itself into first place.

“Loki!” says Thor.  “This is Tony Stark, who I’ve been telling you about from the Valhalla Lake Lodge project.  He’ll be staying with us tonight.  Tony, my brother Loki.”

“...Hey,” Tony manages to force out in a voice that doesn’t sound too panicked.

“Hello, Tony,” Loki says, flashing him that awful, predatory smile that Tony’s sure he’ll never be able to forget.

Thor, who’s unfortunately not an idiot and therefore not oblivious to the tension in the air, looks from Loki to Tony and back again.  “You two know each other?”

Loki answers that, which might be for the best, because Tony sure can’t.  “We’ve met.”

Once again, Thor looks from Loki to Tony and back again.  And from the expression on his face, Tony has the most horrible feeling that he understands exactly what ‘met’ means.

“Well, isn’t that nice,” he says after an uncomfortable pause.  “No introductions necessary.”

“Yeah.  Uh,” says Tony.  “You know what?  I don’t want to do anything to inconvenience you or, uh... intrude on what I can see are some very important family traditions.  I should go.  The highway might be open by now.  I can drive back to Duluth, get a hotel there, and catch my flight tomorrow.  That’s probably a better plan than staying here, isn’t it?  I think so.  Yeah.  Definitely.”

Thor actually grabs him by the arm to stop him from retreating back to his coat and fleeing immediately.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s starting to snow again, and it’ll be dark before you get halfway.”

“I don’t mind driving in the dark.”

“Tony, I checked the highway report after you called me.  It’s still closed.”

“I’ll wait in my car.  It’s fine.  Totally fine.”

“I won’t have a friend of mine out there in the cold and snow on the road by himself at Christmas.  Not when there’s a hot meal waiting and a comfortable bed for the night.  Loki’s making shepherd’s pie.”

“Wow, that’s tempting, but I should really-”

“You should stay here for the night,” Thor says.  Firmly.  Very firmly.  “I insist.”

“But...”

“I’ll show you to your room.”

The unspoken implication there is, _whether you like it or not._ Sighing, Tony follows Thor’s gesture over to the stairs.

Realistically speaking, how much worse could his day get?  He was already stuck in traffic, missed his flight, was unable to get a room at the hotel, had to suck up his pride and call Thor, and was now stuck for the night under the same roof with a one night stand he assumed he’d never have to see again.  Oh, and was facing having to eat family dinner with him.  Great.  Could it get any worse, or was this peak shittiness?

No, it could get worse.  He doesn’t know how, but has faith that somehow, it could always get worse.

Turning around at the top of the stairs, he looks to Thor in one last-ditch effort to escape.  “Um.  Just so we’re perfectly clear.  I kind of...”  He takes one bolstering breath and then pushes on.  “I definitely slept with your brother.  Loki.  Yesterday.”

Thor nods.  “Yes, I understood that.”

Goddamnit.  “I didn’t know he was your brother at the time.  But seeing him here now and knowing that... it’s really awkward.”

“Don’t worry.  Loki may make some snide remarks, but just ignore him and enjoy your stay, and you can leave first thing in the morning.  He’s harmless.”

 _Harmless._   Yes, that’s definitely a word Tony would use to describe Loki.  ‘Harmless’.  Were he and Thor even talking about the same person?

“This will be your room right here,” Thor says.  “Bathroom is that last door at the end of the hall.  Should be clean towels in the bottom dresser drawer.  Is there anything else you need for the night?”

 _A way out of this mess._   “No,” Tony mutters.  “Thanks.”

“I’ll let you settle in.  Dinner should be ready by six.  Until then, make yourself at home, feel free to grab a beer from the fridge, and let me know if you need anything at all.”

A beer from the fridge sounds tempting.  But a trip to the kitchen, with a 100% probability of running into Loki, sounds anything but.  In which case, Tony’ll just stay right where he is, plopping his ass down onto the quaint, handmade quilt on this sturdy, wood-framed bed, and stare out the window at the steadily increasing snowfall.

One night.  Just one night.  He can survive one night.  Can’t he?


	2. Goddamn Block Heater

Somehow, dinner isn’t as much of a disaster as it could’ve been.  Loki, to Tony’s immense relief, mostly ignores him in favor of chatting blandly with Thor about needing to buy milk tomorrow, whether they should plow out the driveway tonight or wait until the snow stops, making sure the Christmas tree has water, and plans for somebody’s upcoming Christmas Eve party.  He asks Tony about the road conditions, and about flight plans, and offers him a second helping of shepherd’s pie, but other than that... nothing contentious.

Also, unlike Tony ~~hoped~~ feared, he doesn’t show up as an apparition in the night, sliding through the guest bedroom door with that unnerving smile of his.

Nothing happens at all.

But still, Tony’s out of bed before 5 am.  He repacks his suitcase, leaves a quick thank-you note for Thor, and creeps out to his car.  Outside, the sky is still dark, and it looks like a good five or six inches of snow fell overnight.  And if he thought it was cold the previous day, it’s _cold as hell_ with a nasty north wind as he struggles to clear off the windshield.  And it’s not any warmer inside the car.  Even the seats feel frozen, stiffer than he’s sure they were when he drove over.  The tiny heat of his breath causes the interior windows to fog up almost immediately.  He fumbles with cold fingers to get the key into the ignition and start the car.

The car apparently has other plans.

The engine makes one low, sad sound, like the whining of a sleepy animal.  Briefly, the dashboard lights flicker before fading back out.

“Oh for the love of...” he whispers under his breath.  He tries again, to even less of a result: the engine makes a quiet _mrrr_ before dying.  Third try results in absolutely nothing.

He folds his arms across the top of the steering wheel, drops his head down, and tries not to scream into the void.  Logical thought: now is the time for logical thought.  And logically?  The battery is frozen, meaning the car won’t start until it warms up, no matter how much he hopes and swears.

He goes back inside to make a pot of coffee, wait for Thor to wake up, and seriously consider the possibility that he recently crossed a witch who is now exacting revenge.

ooo

“Oh yeah, this thing’s dead,” Thor says from under the hood of the Toyota.  “I could give you a boost, but I don’t know how much of a charge it’d hold.  This battery’s coming up on five years old.  Wouldn’t be safe for highway driving anyway, because if you have to stop for any reason, there’s no guarantee it’ll start again.  You’ll need a replacement.”

“It’s a rental,” says Tony.

Thor nods.  “I’d call down to the rental place and let them know what happened.  Maybe they know a mechanic up here who can replace it and bill them.  Or at least they can reimburse you when you return the car.”

“Is there an Enterprise location here where I could just swap out and get a different car?”

“No.  Sorry.  No car rentals at all in town; we’re too small.  But I tell you what.  You call down to the rental place, and I’ll give my friend Hogun a shout to see if he has anything in the right size over at the hardware store.  I can install it for you.”

“I can-” Tony begins, but catches himself.  “Sure, yeah, thanks,” he says instead.  He could probably install a battery in his sleep, but at this point, mentioning to Thor that he knows anything about cars would just open him up to numerous questions about why the hell he completely blanked on the fact that a basic import sedan, when left outside overnight at -40, will definitely fail to start in the morning _unless you know to plug in the goddamn block heater._

Thor brings it up anyway with a teasing smile as he shuts the hood.  “Guess you don’t have block heaters in New York City, huh?”

“Not that I’ve ever had to use,” Tony mutters, staring down at the stupid little cord hanging there in front of the Toyota’s grille.  The really stupid thing, though, is that he even noticed it when he first picked up the car, made a mental note of what it was, and then promptly forgot its existence.

“Well, let’s go inside.  I’ll call my friend, you can call the car rental agency, and we’ll see if we can get this fixed and have you on your way.”

Tony pulls out his phone to check the time.  Seven-thirty. He still has a good chance of making his flight, if they can get a new battery in the next hour or so.  He just needs one thing to go his way.  Just _one thing_ on this whole farce of a trip.

Wait, no, he takes that back.

He needs _two_ things to go his way.  The call to Enterprise is as smooth as can be, with the agent giving him a ticket number and instructions to bring in the receipt for the new battery to have the cost deducted from his rental total.  That’s one thing.  The second thing he needs is for Thor’s buddy to have the right size of battery available, because without part two, part one is next to useless.

This is where things start going south again.  Thor isn’t able to reach his friend until twenty after eight, by which point Tony’s about to lose his mind from the buildup of anxious frustration.  He’s had six cups of coffee, none of which has helped in the least, and has a feeling he’s about to wear a permanent groove in Thor’s kitchen floor from pacing back and forth beside the table.  And when Thor does get through, it’s not for good news.

“Hogun’s wife says he’s out hunting for the weekend, and won’t be back until tomorrow night.”

Tony could kick something.  He could.  He really could.  “...Is there anybody else working at the hardware store who could help us?”

“I’m sure there is, but it doesn’t open until ten on Saturdays.”

“My flight is at noon,” Tony growls through clenched teeth.  “I need to leave here in the next half hour if I want to have any hope of getting to the airport on time.”

Thor shakes his head.  “I’m sorry, Tony.  I just don’t think it’s possible.”

“Then how about _you_ drive me to Duluth,” Tony says.  “Thor, I will literally give you five hundred dollars to drive me to the airport in your big truck with its big snow tires, that’s been parked in the garage all night so I _know_ it’ll start.  Please.  I’m desperate.  Then just return the rental car whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“I don’t know...” says Thor.

“I’m begging you.  A thousand dollars.  I will give you a thousand dollars.  I need to make this flight.  Please.”

“Well, I have to be somewhere at 12:30, but-”

“Two thousand dollars.”

“But maybe Loki can drive you.  I don’t think he’s doing anything today.”

Silently, Tony stares at Thor, who’s smiling happily as if he’s just come up with the cleverest possible solution to the problem, instead of a nightmarish additional problem all on its own.  “...Five thousand dollars,” Tony says.  “I will give you, personally, Thor, five thousand dollars if you, personally, Thor, drive me to Duluth.  You.  Personally.  _Thor_.”

“I have a lunch engagement.  Let me go talk to Loki.”  And thus Thor trundles merrily off upstairs despite Tony’s pleas to the contrary.

Tony glances at the clock.  It’s 8:23.  His flight boards in three hours.  Can he handle being in a car alone with Loki for two of those?  No.  Well.  Maybe.  Maybe he can suffer through it.  Maybe he can play on his phone the whole way.  Maybe he can pretend to be asleep. 

The clock ticks up to 8:24.

Okay, yes, he can handle being in a car with Loki for two hours, even though 80% of the reason for fleeing Asgard immediately is to get away from Loki.  Two hours isn’t that long.  He can do it.  Just two more hours until freedom.

ooo

Loki is in a grouchy mood, probably due to being hauled out of bed (he strikes Tony as the kind of person who’s rarely awake before ten on a Saturday) and sent on an impromptu road trip.  But the grouchiness actually suits Tony just fine.  The more interested Loki is in scowling and glaring at the snowy road, the less time he spends talking.  The only time he opens his mouth is to angrily take a swig of coffee from the travel mug Thor gave him.

Tony stares out the window, watching the passing landscape in blissful silence.  It’s pretty out there, with the new snow glittering like diamonds under the light of the pale December sun.  But pretty in a ‘nice to see it once’ kind of way.  Not in a ‘wish I lived here’ way.  He sneaks a glance at the console display.  External temperature has gone up and is now at a whopping -35 degrees.

“Why does anybody even live here...” he mutters to himself.

“What?” Loki snaps.

“Nothing,” he immediately answers, mentally slapping himself for ruining a perfectly good silent streak.  As a distraction, he reaches for his phone, but the services is still crap.  One whole bar.  Just enough to turn attempts at connecting to the internet into an exercise in extreme patience.

And unfortunately, now that the barrier is broken, Loki’s suddenly deciding to be more of a conversationalist.  “What is it that you do, anyway?”

Sighing, Tony puts his phone away.  “I told you.  I’m a real estate developer.”

“Yes, I know.  I’m asking what that means.  What do you do physically _do_?”

“My company buys land around the country, and we work either on our own or in conjunction with other national brands to build mainly commercial properties.  Hotels.  Vacation resorts.  Office towers.  Malls.  Occasionally a condo complex.  That kind of thing.  Then we either manage the finished property or sell it.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah, I get to travel to all these glamorous locations like Asgard, Minnesota.  It’s excitement out the wazoo, let me tell you.”

“Yes, I’m sure your wazoo sees all kinds of excitement.”

Tony almost laughs at that, but stops himself just in time.  Can’t be seen as encouraging of Loki’s bullshit.  “Uh-huh.  Two weeks ago I was negotiating the purchase of an old strip mall in Harrodsburg, Kentucky, that we want to revamp.  Before that it was preliminary scouting for a proposed new hotel site in Oswego, Illinois.  The fun never stops.”

“How often are you away from home?”

“I don’t know.  All the time.  At least ten or twelve days each month.  Sometimes when it gets busy I’m going straight from one job to the next.”

“Sounds terrible,” says Loki.

“Why?” Tony asks.  “’Home’ for me is my computer and my phone, connecting me to the office.  My apartment back in New York is just another bedroom, albeit one with a way nicer TV than anything you’d see in a small town motel.”

“But don’t you find the travel exhausting?  Always having to be somewhere, interact with people, follow a schedule, keep your life packed into one small suitcase?  Always having to sit on a plane or in a car?”

“Plane’s way better than a car,” Tony says with a shrug.  “I can get some work done over the WiFi.  Airport security is annoying, but I’ve done it so many times now I just zone out.”

“I think I’d rather die,” Loki mutters.  Or at least that’s what Tony thinks he says.  It’s too quiet to really hear over the ambient sounds of the car.

“So I take it you don’t like travel?”

“I don’t mind going somewhere every once in a while.  A few times a year.  But I’m certainly glad I don’t need to do anything like what you’re describing.”

“Then you’re happy just hanging out at home in Asgard.”

“Yes.”

“Always doing the same thing, seeing the same people, eating the same food, living in the same place.”

“Yes.”

“Sounds terrible.”

Loki scoffs and looks like he’s about to say something else, but then makes a face and leans forward to stare intently out the windshield.

“What?” Tony asks, and at this point, he instinctively fears the worst.  “Something wrong?”

“No,” Loki says, gently putting on the brakes to slow down.  “Just a deer in the ditch.  They’re everywhere.  But they’re stupid and prone to panic, and when they do... they tend to run straight in front of vehicles.”

Craning his neck to follow Loki’s line of sight, Tony can pick out the deer.  It would be just his luck if the dumb thing _did_ run in front of them, but luckily it seems to be content standing where it is off the side of the highway.  “Do they usually travel alone or in herds?”

“Herds.  So keep a watch out for- _SHIT!_ ”

Loki slams on the brakes and the Escalade swerves sideways in a nauseating lurch.  He can’t slow down enough to stop the inevitable fishtail.  Ahead, the deer they didn’t see – the two lurking against the trees on the other side of the road – sprint across to join their friend.

They don’t end up hitting the deer.

They _do_ end up hitting the ditch, head on, crunching into the snow at a sharp, downward angle.

Momentarily stunned, all Tony can do is stare at his hands planted firmly against the dashboard.  Then he looks over at Loki, equally stunned and staring at the spray of snow that hit the windshield.  Slowly, Loki inhales a long breath, turns the wipers on to clear the snow away, and shifts into reverse.

The Escalade rocks back an inch or two before the tires start spinning in the snow, unable to gain traction.  “Shit,” Loki whispers.  He gets out of the car, makes a quick loop around to survey the situation and kick some of the snow surrounding the tires, and gets back in.  Reverses again.  Goes nowhere again.

“Do you have any sand or a shovel?” Tony asks.

“Yes, but I think we might be in too far.”

“Do you want me to push?”

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yeah, but I figure I’ll remain unrealistically optimistic until all possible options are exhausted.  You grab the floor mats.  I’ll dig.”

Somewhere, deep inside, he knows how this will end.  He knows exactly how far they’ll get in their quest to get out of the ditch.  But still it takes fifteen minutes of digging, putting down sand, pushing, sticking the floor mats under the wheels, and swearing like nobody’s business before Loki insists they give up.  The Escalade just keeps sliding sideways, farther down the slope with each insufficient attempt.  It’s time to call Thor.  Who’s almost an hour away.  Meaning the chances of Tony making his flight just plummeted down to around zero.

So while Loki calls Thor to bring the truck and a chain, Tony climbs back into his seat and rubs his hands together to get rid of the biting cold.  He pulls out his phone.  At least it still has 72% power and that one damn bar.

“Hi Pepper,” he says when her voicemail picks up.  His voice rings with the hollow apathy of defeat.  There’s no way around that.  “Something came up.  Call me when you get this.”

ooo

“Tony, I’m really sorry, but there’s _nothing_ ,” Pepper tells him, speaking the precise words that he would have to classify as ‘worst-case scenario’.  “The days before Christmas are some of the busiest travel days of the year, and you’re asking me to find you a last-minute flight from a small airport!  Everything is sold out.  The next flights out of Duluth with any availability are on the 26th.”

“Then get something from Minneapolis,” Tony replies as he paces his familiar groove next to Thor’s kitchen table.  “I’ll drive to Minneapolis.”

“Tony,” Pepper sighs, while Thor says, “That’s over four hours away.”

Tony covers the phone with his hand.  “Thor, at this point I am 99% willing to drive all the way to Chicago.”

“You don’t have a car battery.”

A minor setback.

“Can I make a recommendation?” Pepper’s voice says over the phone.

“No,” says Tony, “because I already know I’m not going to like it.”

“Stay in Asgard for Christmas.”

He was right.  He doesn’t like that at all.  “That’s not an option.  Are you looking at flights from Minneapolis?”

“No, because this is getting ridiculous.  You’ve already been delayed by two accidents.  Driving to Minneapolis where, according to Google, it’s currently -32 degrees and all the flights are delayed because of a de-icing backup, is a terrible idea.  It’s not safe.  Why can’t you stay where you are for a few days, and I’ll book you the next flight out of Duluth on the 26th?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because...”  _Because I have several regrets about choices made in my personal life._   “I just want to get home for Christmas.  You understand.”

Pepper doesn’t buy that schmaltzy bit.  “You told me your Christmas plans were ordering Chinese takeout and watching Star Wars.  You can do that in Asgard.”

“I don’t think they have Chinese restaurants here.”

“We do!” Thor helpfully chimes in.  “There’s one on Lake Street, across from the grocery store.”

“Nope, nary a Chinese restaurant to be had.”

“It’s called the Silver Dragon Inn.  We can go there tonight if you want.”

“Can I speak with Thor for a minute?” Pepper asks.

“Absolutely not,” says Tony.

“Then can you hold for a minute?”

“No,” says Tony, but the faint clicking sound followed by static silence tells him she didn’t listen.

Seconds later, Thor’s phone rings.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me...” Tony mutters, but yes, of course, Pepper would have Thor’s number.  She set up most of the meetings before Tony even arrived in Asgard.   And knowing Thor, the two of them are probably Facebook friends by now.

“Hello?” Thor says, followed by, “Pepper!  Hello!  ...Yes, good, good.  And you?”

They’re definitely Facebook friends by now.

“Uh huh?” says Thor.  “Mmm.  Yes.  ...Of course.  ...No, not a problem at all.  I’d be more than happy.  ...Absolutely.  ...No, here is fine.  Much more comfortable than the hotel.  ...For sure.  I’ll let him know.  ...Fantastic.  Merry Christmas to you too!”

Tony doesn’t even need to ask a single question to know what Thor and Pepper discussed.  There’s another faint click on his phone, and the sound returns.

“Hi,” says Pepper.  “It’s settled.  You’re staying with Thor until the 26th.  I’ll email you your new itinerary.”

“I don’t get any say in this?” he growls.

“No.  Enjoy your vacation.  Drink some cocoa and go skating.  Merry Christmas, Tony!  See you next week!  Don’t call me again!”

“So,” Tony says, faced with Thor’s dumb, goofy grin as he puts his phone back in his pocket.  “I guess I’ll just... try to get the car going and drive to Minneapolis.  I can book a flight in person at the airport.”

“I won’t hear of it.  What kind of friend would I be if I let you spend Christmas alone?”

They’re not friends.  They’re business acquaintances.  But Thor apparently didn’t get that memo.

“Tony, I insist you stay here.  You can come to Fandral’s party with Loki and me, and we can take you to the Christmas Eve festival, and we’ll have food and drinks and celebrate with all the family traditions.  It’ll be wonderful!”

“That sounds... wonderful... yeah.” 

There’s no way Tony’s getting out of this.  Between fate thwarting him at every turn and now Thor working with Pepper, determined to do the same, there’s no way he’s getting out.  It’s like an upbeat, tinsel-drenched, cinnamon-scented horror movie.  Trapped in a small town.  Forced to celebrate Christmas with the locals.  They probably _will_ make him drink cocoa and go skating.

Thor catches him in a crushing bear hug.


	3. Outside at Midnight

It feels like a bit of a waste to wash only seven pairs of underwear and socks, but since Tony only packed a weeks’ worth for this trip... it’s time for the world’s smallest load of laundry.  He chucks a few t-shirts and his jeans and pajamas into the machine as well just to fill it up a little more.  He should have asked Thor if there was a dry cleaner in town for the rest of his clothes, but he can probably squeeze a few more days’ wear out of the shirts and pants.

When he comes up from the basement, Loki’s sitting at the kitchen table with a book and a pot of tea.

The easy thing to do would be to sneak quietly away and hide upstairs until Thor gets home.  The less dickish and more adult thing to do would be to say something to Loki.

“Hey, um,” Tony starts, pausing in the kitchen doorway.  “I’m... sorry about the car.  Let me know if there’s any damage or if it needs a wheel alignment.  I’ll pay for everything.”

“It’s fine,” Loki says quietly without looking up.  “It’s not your fault those deer ran across the road.”

“No, but if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been on that road at all.”

Still, Loki shakes his head.  “I don’t think there’s anything.  The bumper is intact and I couldn’t feel any drift on the drive home.”

“Okay.  But just in case.  Let me know.”

Finally looking up, Loki meets Tony’s eyes with an unreadable expression.  “Thank you,” he says after a moment.  “That’s very generous of you.”

“I just feel bad that you were doing me a huge favor and it ended up with your car in the ditch.”

“Well it’s all fine now.”  Loki returns to his book.  “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Ehhh... I’m not really a tea guy,” says Tony.

“There’s Irish cream in it.”

“Okay, I am _that_ kind of tea guy.”  Tony grabs a mug from the cupboard and takes a seat at the table, where Loki pours him a cup of tea that smells very strongly of alcohol.  “How much Irish cream is in this, exactly?”

“Hm, it’s about half and half.”

“That’s a good ratio.”

“Mm.”

Obviously, Loki’s not much in the mood for conversation.  But it feels silly just sitting there together not saying anything.  In the car it worked because Tony could pretend Loki was too busy concentrating on the road to bother with smalltalk, but sitting at the table?  Sipping very alcoholic tea?

“Sooooo,” Tony says.  “Uh.  What time d’you think Thor will be back?”

Loki snorts.  “Oh, I’m sure it won’t be for a good long while...”

“No?”

“No.  He’ll waste as much time as possible puttering around town and only come home when he absolutely has to.  In order to ensure we have ample time alone together.”

Tony feels his stomach clench in a way that may or may not be pleasant.  Hard to tell.  “He’s...”

“Clumsily trying to interfere with my love life, yes,” says Loki.  “He considers it to be a critical brotherly duty, despite the fact that I’m always telling him not to.  He’s worried about me being alone.  When, in fact, alone is my favorite state of being.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”  Briefly, Loki looks up.  “Why do you think I choose to live in this remote little town?”

“I don’t know,” Tony says.  “I guess I thought... because you grew up here?  You’ve always lived here?  Your family and friends are here?”

“ _Thor_ stays for those reasons.  For all the memories and traditions.  I stay because...”  He glances out the window.  “Well.  I can show you later.”

“So why do you live with Thor rather than by yourself?”

Loki almost laughs.  “Do you think he’d let me live by myself?”

Tony’s only known Thor for a handful of days, and yet the answer to that is glaringly obvious.  “Right.  Okay.”  Time for the million-dollar question.  “If you like being alone so much, how come you ended up in my hotel room on Thursday night?”

“Well let’s see,” says Loki, folding his hands over his teacup like some kind of authoritative evil genius.  “Thor was having friends over that evening, so I decided to go into town to the hotel restaurant where I could have a nice slice of pie and a drink while using their WiFi to get some work done.  So there I was, minding my own business in the peace and quiet, avoiding my brother and spending the evening not being hollered at to come play Cranium.  And then you came over to talk to me about...”

“...Whatever you were drinking that had all the blueberries and basil leaves in it.”

“Right.  And I thought that you were an attractive man, so... why not?  I had nothing better to do.  It was a nice little diversion.”

That’s a perfectly serviceable answer.  And exactly along the lines of what Tony would’ve said, had Loki asked him the same.  He had nothing better to do, and it was a nice little diversion.  But still, he can’t help but be a little... disappointed?  With Loki’s distant nonchalance?  As if ‘disappointment’ is even a thing he should feel?

No, that’s stupid.  What he _should_ feel is relieved that he and Loki both had the same expectations regarding their single night together.  There’s absolutely no reason at all to feel anything else, sitting across the kitchen table from Loki, whose attention is fixed back on his book.  Absently, Loki brushes a few wayward strands of long, black hair back from his forehead, then reaches for his tea.  Even those simple little everyday movements are performed with a casual, graceful elegance.  Maybe he knows Tony’s watching him, and wants to put on a show.  Or maybe he just knows how damn beautiful he is and is long practiced in the art of doing everything perfectly.

Or maybe he just _is_ perfect, without ever having to consciously try.

Whatever it is, Tony needs to change the subject quickly to avoid dwelling on that.  He clears his throat.  “Anyway.  Work.  What kind of work do you do from a hotel restaurant?”

“I’m a writer,” Loki says.

“Of?  Fiction?  Nonfiction?”

“Fiction.”

“Novels?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me about them or do I have to keep asking everything one question at a time?”

Loki sighs.  “I write the most ludicrous sort of action-suspense drivel.  You know. The shit that’s sold in airport bookstores to people who essentially want a movie in paper form.”

“Ooh, my favorite kind,” says Tony.  “What are some titles?  I can’t remember ever seeing anything written by somebody called Loki, but I’ll have a look when I’m going back through Chicago.”

“I publish under the pen name S.D. Lowdham.  The newest one is called _Scion of Chernobyl_ , and it’s preposterously stupid.”

“What,” Tony says, too loudly, but it’s kind of hard to modulate your volume when your entire body is suddenly frozen in place.

“I said it’s called _Scion of Chernobyl_ and-”

“No no, I heard that, I just meant ‘what’ as in... I literally have that book in my laptop bag right now.  I bought it on my way here.”

Looking up, Loki stares at Tony with what he’s pretty sure is a carbon copy of the expression he’s currently using to stare back at Loki.  “You bought that crap?”

“Um,” says Tony.  “I’m pretty sure I’m your target audience: white collar business traveler who spends way too much time in airports and enjoys cheap, quick-read paperbacks about improbable supernatural fantasy science and pseudohistory.  Like I _know_ it’s dumb, but at the same time, I can’t put it down?”

“How many have you read?”

“I think all of them.  I mean, at least all the ones I’ve ever found in airport bookstores.  My favorite is _Despenser’s Alchemy_ , because one, I love crazy conspiracy theories about ancient codes and prophecies, and two, nobody else I’ve ever talked to about it realizes that Edward Despenser is gay and Anne is his beard, not his girlfriend, and she’s gay too.  It’s like a hidden Easter egg for anybody who knows what to look for.”

A hint of a smirk creeps across Loki’s face.  “You really are my target audience.”

“Yeah.  Business traveler who likes cheap pulp paperbacks and gets all your weird little gay history references.  I actually, uh...”  He probably shouldn’t admit this, but he does anyway.  “I check the new releases stand every time I fly just in case there’s something I need to buy and read immediately.  I may have almost yelled when I saw _Scion of Chernobyl_ at the bookstore in LaGuardia, and I stayed up until four in the morning finishing it my first night here.  I slept through my alarm and was late for my meeting with Thor because of your dumb book.  So, thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And this might sound weird, but... the first time I bought one of your books, I did it because of your pen name.  There’s this obscure character in some of J.R.R. Tolkien’s unfinished writings named Alwin Arundel Lowdham.  I don’t know why that name always stuck with me, but when I saw your book, I thought that was a funny coincidence and decided to give it a try.”

Loki’s smirk drops and the expression of shock pops right back up in its place.  “It’s... not a coincidence,” he quietly says.  “And you’re the first person I’ve met who’s ever noticed that.”

“Wait, the Tolkien-Lowdham reference was _intentional_?”

“It was.”

“Then what about the S.D. part?”

Silently, Loki points over Tony’s shoulder, through the archway that leads from the kitchen through to what’s probably supposed to be a dining room but functions more as an extended living room space with a table.  On the far wall, there’s a bookshelf.  Tony has to get up and walk over to see, but he knows immediately what Loki’s pointing at.  There’s an entire set of the History of Middle-earth books.  Twelve in all. 

“The History of Middle-earth volume nine,” Tony says.  “ _Sauron Defeated_.  It’s the book that contains the Notion Club Papers.”

Loki gives him a somewhat sarcastic-looking thumbs up.

“Is it possible you’re an even bigger nerd than I am?”

“It seems as if that might be the case, yes,” Loki replies.

Nodding, Tony returns to the table and grabs his tea before he blurts out anything he can’t retract.  Something soppy about being uncharacteristically overwhelmed in the presence of his favorite guilty pleasure author, who happens to also be a fan of his favorite more respectable classic fantasy author.  Something along the lines of Loki obviously being incredibly smart with impeccable literary taste.  Alongside being so hazardously attractive.  Maybe even more hazardously attractive than previously assumed.  (Goddamnit.)

“Okay,” he says, carefully sticking to the script of safe shared interests to avoid blathering like a star-struck idiot.  “I’m going to need you to tell me all about your favorite piece of obscure Tolkien lore in a minimum of five thousand words, starting now.  Go.”

“Well,” Loki replies, tapping his fingertips on the sides of his tea mug.  “Let me think about that for a second.  Hm.  I suppose it would have to be the legend of the Sleeper in the Tower of Pearl...”

ooo

The smug smile on Thor’s face when he comes home to find Tony and Loki sitting together is almost enough ( _almost_ ) to make Tony regret spending the past four hours at the kitchen table, drinking tea and talking about elves, dwarves, hobbits, and obscure details from the Book of Lost Tales.  Thor asks a few heavy-handed and leading questions about how they enjoyed their afternoon, and generally just reinforces Loki’s assertion that he’s trying to interfere in his brother’s love life.  Loki answers everything in a coolly distant way that reinforces nothing.  And Tony stays quiet, because whoops, he accidentally finished all the Irish cream tea plus a bottle of wine and two beers, and he can feel himself teetering on the verge of becoming way too talkative about all those soppy things he’s been trying real hard not to mention.

So they make frozen pizzas for dinner, and Loki (thankfully) keeps the conversation firmly anchored in Christmas plans and preparations despite Thor’s valiant efforts to unsubtly hint at other things, and then Tony escapes up to his room to do something boring and safe like check his email.

He tries not to think about Loki, but that’s impossible, even with thirty-seven emails to read through.

Unfortunately it’s also impossible to actively think about Loki, because the thoughts are so confusing.  For example: it’s a no-brainer that he wants to sleep with Loki again.  Because.  Who wouldn’t.  But on the other hand, another night of meaningless, semi-anonymous sex seems oddly unappealing.  There’s always the option of sneaking over to Loki’s room after everyone’s gone to bed, _but_...  The chance of rejection leaves an unpleasant feeling in his gut, when he’s never worried about rejection before.  Not that he’s never _been_ rejected, but up until now, it was never anything he cared about.  Rejection happened all the time.  It was no big deal and never really mattered.  He just accepted and moved on.

Could he brush it off and move on if Loki turned him down?  Maybe.  Or maybe he’d care a little too much, and it would actually hurt for once.  And that points to the frustrating, annoying, inconvenient, and generally horrible possibility that... he might... have... actual... _feelings_... for Loki.

It could be that it’s just the alcoholic buzz coupled with spending too much time together, and he’s mistaking a friendly connection for something more.  It could also be that he’s still a little residually star-struck from realizing Loki’s the person who wrote the book sitting there not five feet away in his computer bag.  But the truth is, Loki’s intelligent, witty, interesting, hilariously nerdy, and, yes, hazardously attractive.  And really good in bed.

“Shit,” Tony whispers to himself.  Because he can’t think about that.  It’s not a possibility.

 _Loki_ isn’t a possibility.

ooo

He’s halfway asleep, just dozing off amid a continuous tangle of complicated thoughts, when there’s a soft knock at the door.

“Tony?”

That’s Loki’s voice, and it’s enough to jolt him immediately wide awake.  He scrambles out of bed to open the door.  “Yeah?”

On the other side stands Loki, and the fact that he’s still fully dressed in his jeans and heavy sweater is... strangely relieving.  “Come on,” he says.  “I want to show you something.  Put some clothes on.”

Tony grabs the first pair of pants he has draped across a chair by the bed, and a shirt and socks from his suitcase.  He follows Loki downstairs to the front door, where Loki points to a lumpy, navy blue snowsuit hanging in the closet.  “Put that on,” he says, and then points to a pair of massive white boots.  “And those.  You can find a hat, scarf, and mittens in the basket.”

“Uh,” says Tony.  “...Why?”

“Because it’s still minus forty degrees outside and your fancy New York City coat and shoes won’t do you much good.”

“But why are we going outside at midnight?”

“I told you.  I want to show you something.”

And that sounds like all the explanation Loki’s willing to give.  Sighing, Tony puts on the ridiculous snowsuit and steps into the boots.  The suit feels like it has to weigh at least fifteen pounds, with a wool inner layer and a canvas-twill outer, and the boots are a good few sizes too big.  The whole getup must belong to Thor.  He picks a fuzzy wool hat and scarf and huge fur-lined leather mittens from the basket, pulls it all on, and tightens the snowsuit’s hood.  “I feel like I’m about to go sledding in 1956,” he says as he gives Loki’s significantly less ludicrous black coat and hat a once-over.  “How come you don’t have to wear snow pants?”

“Because I know how to dress appropriately for the climate, and have thermal underwear and flannel-lined jeans.  Now follow me.”

Stepping outside into the freezing night air doesn’t make the snowsuit look any less stupid, but at least it _feels_ a little less stupid.  The few square inches of Tony’s face that aren’t bundled up under scarf, hat, and hood catch the sting of the cold, but the rest of him is pleasantly toasty.  Maybe there’s something to be said for dressing like the younger brother from _A Christmas Story_ in this weather.

Staying a few steps ahead, Loki leads the way around to the back of the house and across the field stretching behind it.  His boots crunch against the snow, which glitters bright and white like a feathery-soft blanket stretching to the tree line ahead.  Tony looks up; on a cloudless night, the moon is brilliant enough to illuminate everything as far as the eye can see.

“Is it a full moon tonight?”

“I think so,” says Loki.

To the left is what looks like an old, dilapidated stable, surrounded by the remnants of wooden fencing.  “You used to have horses?”

“Yes.  But we sold the last of them after my parents died.  All this open land here was originally cleared for pasture when the house was built, but now that we’re no longer keeping it up, the trees are starting to grow back in.  I suppose it’ll all be forest again eventually.”

At the edge of the tree line, that’s what it looks like.  Smaller trees have started to fill in the edges, some just barely tall enough to peek out above the top of the snow.  But even at the edge of the pasture Loki keeps on going.  There’s a path of sorts, grown in but still discernable, heading into the forest.  He only stops when they reach what might be a natural clearing not far inside, full of broken stumps and fallen logs.

“You asked me earlier why I stayed here,” Loki says, standing with his hands in his pockets and his face turned to the sky, breath swirling upward like a cloud into the frozen air.  “This is why.  This... remote beauty.  The calm and tranquility and absolute silence.  When I’m here I’m alone, but it’s not a _lonely_ sort of alone like I felt when I was going to school in Minneapolis.  When you’re alone surrounded by people it’s more a feeling of being disregarded and ignored, left out of all the thousands of things happening around you.  Alone in the wilderness is just... alone.  Neither good nor bad.  A simple state of being.  And I can sit out here and think things through and feel that even though I’m not surrounded by people, I’m surrounded by something.  Trees.  Animals.  Life.  I feel at home here.  Connected to everything in a way that I never felt when I was surrounded by cars and concrete.”

Tony’s own breath hangs in wisps in front of his face, catching on his scarf and his eyelashes and turning into crystals of frost.  Up above, the moon stars are so bright against the deep black sky, and the snowy treetops glitter in their silver light.  Everything is as Loki said: calm and tranquil and absolutely silent.

“It is beautiful,” Tony agrees.  “Cold as balls, but...”

Loki grins.  “I think I may be more accustomed to the cold than you are.”

“I also think that.  And even if this isn’t my kind of scene – I’m definitely a boring city guy –I can still appreciate what you love about it.  It’s nice to experience.  For five minutes.  Once.”

“I feel like cities are that way for me.  Fascinating in their own way.  Nice to experience something different.  Occasionally.  But this is where I belong.”

“Hmm.”

It does, in a way, feel like Loki out here.  Cool and remote and secretive.  Wild and dangerous.  A place that could be loved or hated or disregarded or venerated in a hundred different ways from a hundred differing points of view.  But something that could become familiar, if given a chance.  Something he’ll probably miss in the future, and think back on: the beautiful, freezing night that most people will never see or understand.  Maybe he doesn’t even really understand it or its cryptic allure.  But it feels necessary to experience all the same.

“When Thor and I were young,” Loki says, quietly, “we used to spend hours out here, no matter the weather.  In the summer we had a really terrible fort in this clearing, which fell apart every few weeks because we insisted on building it ourselves out of sticks and rope and refused to let our parents help.  In the winter we’d try to build a snow fort.  That only worked in warm weather, when the snow was sticky, or in very cold weather after a heavy snowfall, when it was packed solid and we could cut it into bricks.  One year Thor lost his hat, but he refused to go back inside until the snow fort was done, and he froze his ear.  My mother was... not impressed.”

It’s not hard to imagine Thor in that exact situation.  But it makes another thought pop into Tony’s head.  “Hey, uh...  what was Christmas like when you were a kid?”

Loki’s eyebrows rise with a questioning look.

“I mean...” Tony says.  “This is going to sound dumb, but everything here is like a Christmas storybook.  The trees.  The snow.  The town.  The decorations.  Your house.  Like a perfect ideal of what Christmas should be.”

“Far from perfect,” Loki replies.  “One year we had a crooked Christmas tree that we couldn’t get balanced in the stand, and it fell over and broke the angel.  My mother ended up tying it to a hook in the ceiling with fishing line.  One year we went to my grandparents’ house for Christmas dinner and Thor sneezed on the turkey.  One year the dog ate an entire roast beef.”

“No but see, that’s what makes a perfect Christmas story.  Those weird, goofy, personal memories.  Actual perfection is... boring.  That’s what I had when I was a kid.  The perfect fake tree and the perfect decorations that my mom hired a professional to do, so our house always looked like a perfect catalogue picture.  Perfect store-bought cookies.  Perfect Christmas dinner out at a hotel.  A perfect gas fireplace with perfect new designer stockings every year to match a theme.  A couple years we went to Hawaii and had our perfect Christmas there.  I’d wake up on Christmas morning and quietly open my presents while my parents read the paper, and... I don’t know.  I guess I always felt like I was missing out on something.  Christmas on TV was always this big family celebration, and we didn’t have a big family or a big celebration.  We didn’t have noise or chaos or dogs eating the roast beef or trees falling over or kids sneezing on the turkey.  I was an only child and my mom was an only child and my dad had one brother who had one kid, so I had one whole cousin.  And the one year my aunt and uncle and cousin _did_ visit was when he was fifteen and I was eight, and he told me Santa wasn’t real.  So.”

“So that’s why you hate Christmas,” Loki laughs.

“I don’t _hate_ Christmas.  I’ve just always been disappointed with the promise versus the delivery.  I find it easier to opt out.”

“Ah,” Loki says, stepping up closer.  “Then what you’re saying is you’re desperate to be welcomed into some traditional family Christmas festivities, such as my cousin Fandral’s party tomorrow night, so you can be shown the error of your Grinchy ways.”

“That’s not at all what I was saying and you know it.”

“Too bad.   I’m not going by myself.  You’re coming with me, and we can drink bad homemade eggnog and eat mysterious cheese-based snacks and yell at the kids not to chase the cat and muddle the words to plodding, off-time Christmas carols because Thor thinks he can play the piano far better than he really can. It’ll be awful.  You’ll love it.”

“That sounds...”  Actually appealing, somehow?  When was the last time Tony even went to a Christmas party that wasn’t a corporate event?  Never?  “Sounds awful.  Yeah.  But if you insist.”

“I insist.”

“Okay then.”

“Good.  Now I think we should get back inside.  It’s cold out here.”

“I guess it is,” Tony murmurs.  Cold enough that, if he concentrates on his breathing, it actually _hurts_ a bit to inhale the frigid air. 

“You have frost in your beard,” Loki says.  “But the Santa Claus look really works for you.”

“Um, I think every look really works for me?”

“Absolutely.  You look very sexy in that snowmobile suit.”

“Oh good, because I feel very sexy in this, uh...  You know, I didn’t even know that there was such an article of clothing as a snowmobile suit.  I thought it was just a generic outdoor winter garment for very fashionable, sexy people such as myself.”

“No, no, that is a real, vintage, 1970s snowmobile suit that I think my uncle left at our house long ago?  Thor sometimes wears it for plowing out the driveway.  I think it looks much better on you, though.  It’s really your style.”

“I should get one to wear to work back home, yeah?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“It’ll go amazing with a Brioni three-piece.”

“Mmm.”

Loki’s standing so close.  Close enough that Tony can imagine, even through the bulk of the damn snowmobile suit, the heat that his body must radiate.  A little aura of warmth out here in the white wilderness.  A spark hidden beneath cool skin cast silver-blue in the moonlight.

It isn’t exactly _without thinking_ that Tony reaches out to rest his hand on Loki’s hip, because the thought is definitely there, very present, in his mind.  But an argument could be made that he does it without thinking _clearly_.  Without thinking about what happens next, or about the eventual consequences.  So he reaches out to rest his hand on Loki’s hip.

Curiously, in that very same moment, Loki just happens to close the gap between them, lean in, and kiss him softly with snow-cold lips.


	4. First Time

“Tony?”

Thor’s voice and a knock at the door are as good as any alarm clock.  Tony blinks awake, yawns, and sleepily rubs his eyes.  “Yeah?”

“I’m making breakfast.  Pancakes.  Ready in ten minutes.”

“Nnn...  Okay, thanks.”

And then Thor moves noisily along down the hallway, footsteps heavy against the floorboards, to knock on Loki’s door and holler loud enough for the entire house to hear, “Loki, breakfast ready in ten minutes!”

Rolling over, Tony comes face to face with Loki’s trademark smirk.  Right there in bed next to him.  And he tries his best not to laugh.

“He knows I’m not in there,” says Loki.

“It does sound an awful lot like he’s putting on a big show of pretending not to know you’re not in there,” Tony agrees.  “Are we playing along or not?”

“Oh, we play along.  Make Thor think he’s special for being so sneaky.  You go immediately, and I’ll follow in a few minutes, pretending to be very grumpy and sulky, and I won’t talk to either of you until I’ve had three cups of tea.”

“I don’t like the sounds of that.”  Wrapping an arm around Loki’s waist, Tony scooches just a little bit closer under the mound of blankets.  “The going immediately, I mean.  I can deal with you being grumpy.  I’m practically an expert at this point.”

He presses his lips against Loki’s in a way that could probably be a little gentler and less all-consuming, except 1) it’s an ungodly hour of morning with the sun barely beginning to light the sky and how can he reasonably be expected to control himself at this time, and 2) Loki kisses him back with equal or greater enthusiasm.  He pulls Loki close, and in turn feels welcome hands slide around to his back.  One of his knees slips between Loki’s and if Thor weren’t waiting downstairs...

As if reading his mind, Loki breaks the kiss to say, “Thor’s waiting downstairs.”

“What if we pretend he’s not?”

“Interesting concept, but no.”

And Tony’s not even sure how, but within seconds, Loki manages to roll over while simultaneously stealing all the blankets.  All of them.  In one efficient coup, all the blankets are wrapped burrito-like around Loki, and Tony’s left completely naked in the cold bedroom air.

“Hey!” he says, which is objectively a useless thing to say, but.  He’s in a pretty useless position.

“Shush.  Do you want to give Thor an excuse to burst in here and say how happy he is for us?”

“How did you even do that?  Is this a skill you practice?”

Loki stares him dead in the eye.  “No.  I’m just naturally an expert at everything.”

“You’re so weird,” Tony mutters as he reaches down to the floor to retrieve his pajamas.  “Fine.  I’m getting dressed.  Enjoy your blanket roll while you can.”

“Oh, I will,” says Loki, smugly smiling.  “It’s very cozy in here.”

There’s not much Tony can say that will counter that.  Instead, he just makes a stupid face at Loki before pulling on his shirt and heading downstairs for pancakes.

Loki appears ten minutes later, wearing some inconspicuous duck-print flannel pajamas and looking every bit as grumpy and antisocial as promised.  He grunts in response to Thor’s cheery ‘good morning’, puts the kettle on, and then sits down at the table.  With his knee casually resting against Tony’s.

Tony, who’s busy eating pancakes and absolutely not paying any attention to Loki whatsoever, decides against saying anything about that.

ooo

It was a day of firsts for Tony.  First time wearing a plaid shirt, which he less-than-willingly borrows from Loki because apparently none of his own shirts are dress-code appropriate to a traditional Norwegian family Christmas party.  First time riding in a pick-up truck, stuck in the awkward little back seat behind Loki while Thor drives, balancing a casserole dish full of sausages on his knee.  First time attending a small town household Christmas party.  First time meeting Cousin Fandral, who looks almost exactly like Tony pictured he would: blond hair, blond beard, and wearing an amazing ugly Christmas sweater featuring a dog holding a candy cane.  First time eating a sausage that turned out to have been made from an animal somebody he knows (Thor) had personally hunted and butchered.  And then:

“What do you mean you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree?” asks Loki, looking over the rim of his wine glass with an expression of incredulous suspicion.

“I told you.  When I was growing up, my mom always hired a professional decorator to do up the whole house, including the tree.  Always in a different theme.  Like one year it was pinecones, and then it was angels, and then it was royal purple or something.  I was never involved.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true.  I have never in my life decorated a Christmas tree.”

“But what about all the horrid ornaments you would’ve made as a child during school craft time?  Everyone makes those, Tony.”

“I did make a few paper snowflakes and popsicle stick reindeer with googly eyes.  Oh and a wreath made from a paper plate and green and red crepe paper.  But all that crap ended up on the fridge for a couple days, and then mysteriously disappeared.”

Loki shakes his head.  “I can’t believe you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree.”

“Believe it.”  Tony takes a swig of his beer.

And wow, lucky for him, Fandral is the kind of stubborn traditionalist who always waits to decorate until he can have a big family party and get everyone to participate.

“Alright, here’s how it works,” Loki says, gesturing to the array of ornaments laid out on TV trays around the tree, already being picked over by eager hands.  “There are four tiers of ornaments, though nobody will ever admit this, because they like to pretend everything is equal.  It’s not.  At the bottom you have shit the children made in previous years.  You know.  Things like salt-dough gingerbread men badly colored in with a half-dry marker, or your aforementioned popsicle stick reindeer.  Those go at the back of the tree so they’re technically still hung up, but not on display.”

“Right,” says Tony.  “Like that paper angel glued to a candy cane over there on the end.”

“Exactly.  That’s a perfect example of a back-of-tree ornament.  Then next we have your low-level, average stuff.  This includes things that were purchased in multi-packs from a department store, old souvenir ornaments like that Las Vegas wreath, things that say Baby’s First Christmas 1987, things that were nice twenty years ago but now you’re tired of them...  Ornaments that are fine, but not the best ones you want to put front and center.  These ornaments go toward the bottom of the tree, maybe off to the side.”

“So like that yellow glass ball with the snow frosting on top.”

“Almost, but no.  See, this is where it gets more involved.  Sometimes the average ornaments get confused with the next tier, which is sentimental ornaments.  Sentimental ornaments are the ones from the 50s, like that ball, or things my grandmother made, like that cardboard and yarn birdfeeder.  Those ones can go center front.  But it’s further complicated by things like the pinecone dressed up as a Japanese woman, which my grandmother also made.  Now that was fine in 1960, but these days it’s probably considered a bit racist, so we just put it at the back because nobody wants to throw it out.”

This is getting too confusing.  “Yeah, so how about instead of me doing something wrong, you hand me the ornaments and then tell me where to put them?”

“No, you’re a grown man and you need to learn how to do this.  It’s important.  The top tier ornaments are the really nice ones, like the miniature stained glass window.  Those have to go in the most prominent places, preferably hanging right in front of a light for optimal viewing.  Then the last rule is that birds go at the top of the tree.  Unless they’re flightless birds like penguins, in which case they can go anywhere.  Oh.  And don’t put similar ornaments next to each other.  So spread out the goats.”

“I’m going to mess this up,” Tony says.  “I’ll put a child’s first grade craft penguin at the top of the tree right in front of a light, next to another penguin.”

“Just pick something and try to think about where it should go.”

He goes for a weird ornament shaped like a piece of sushi.  “This looks unique.”

“And where do you think it should go?” Loki asks.

“Let’s see.  Uh.  It’s made of rubber and looks new, so it’s probably not nostalgic.  Actually it looks like a keychain or phone charm or something that was bought for novelty value?  I’m gonna say...”  He holds it up to jiggle in front of Loki’s face.  “Average?”

Loki smiles, which Tony accepts as a victory, even if it’s kind of patronizing.  “Very good.  Stick it somewhere off to the side.”

The next ornament looks like a big gold tassel.  “I can’t tell if this is average or nice.”

“Tony, it has gold beads on it and fringe hanging down.  It’s clearly top tier.”

“Right, how stupid of me.”  Front and center it goes.  Next:  “Star of Fëanor?”

“Clearly I bought that one for Fandral.  It came in a four-pack from the dollar store.  Average.”

He sticks it at the bottom of the tree.  “Okay, I’ve participated.  Three decorations.  Can I go back to the food now and have another one of those weird, dry deer sausages?”

Loki pretends to look offended and put out.  “Fine, yes.  Sausage away.  I’m surprised you like them.  Isn’t homemade sausage a little rustic for your highbrow city tastes?”

“Nope,” says Tony.  “I’m pretty sure small-batch rustic forest-to-table organic artisanal sausage is very in right now.”

More importantly, they taste really good with mustard.  He puts two on his plate, and a potato thing, and some cheese things, and a few cookies (carefully positioned so as not to slide into the mustard).  “Hey quick question,” he says to Loki as they weave their way past the table and over to a slightly more secluded corner of the room.  “If this is a traditional Norwegian family Christmas party, how come there’s a big tray of nachos?”

“Ah,” Loki says, slowly nodding.  “I’d say that’s because none of us here has actually ever been to Norway?”

“No?  So this cheese puff pastry thing isn’t the food of your people?”

“I think that’s the food of a sponsored post my aunt saw on Facebook.”

 “I feel so disillusioned right now.”

“The traditional Norwegian part comes later when we all strip down to our underwear and run outside to jump in the snow.”

Tony’s sausage fork freezes halfway between his hand and his mouth.

Until Loki adds, “That was a joke.”

“You shouldn’t make those jokes,” Tony grumbles.  “You _know_ Thor’s the kind of person who gives off the vibe of doing exactly that kind of thing.  It’s too easy to believe.”

“I mean I was joking about the _all_ doing it part.  Thor definitely has jumped in the snow in his underwear.  It’s just not mandatory.”

Of course he has.  From his kitchen vantage point, Tony scans the room until he spots Thor, over by the piano.  Naturally, Thor’s already looking at him, and when their eyes meet, Thor raises his drink with a hearty smile.  Tony half-assedly reciprocates.  Then turns aside so he can murmur to Loki: “Thor’s watching us with a look like a proud sports dad.”

“I’m sure he’s started to plan the wedding already.”

“Great.  I think you should fill me in on the particulars of his personal life so I can stare back at him with the same creepy expression.”

Loki snorts.  “Well.  If you look off to Thor’s left, you’ll see a woman with black hair, wearing a glittery red sweater.  That’s Sif, who’s been in love with him for years, even though she pretends she’s not.  They’ve been close friends since elementary school, and everyone assumed they’d get married one day.  But Sif dated someone else for a while, and now Thor’s infatuated with Jane, who’s standing next to him, in the blue turtleneck.  She’s a scientist, I can’t remember of what, and moved to town this past spring for her research.  She and Thor are... sort of together.   I don’t know what their exact situation is, and I don’t ask, because I know Thor would tell me in great detail.”

“I see.  Will you excuse me for a second?”

Taking a step forward, Tony catches Thor’s eye again, then raises his glass in congratulations while exaggeratedly looking between Jane and Thor.  Thor answers with a confused half-smile, much to Tony’s satisfaction.

“Thanks,” he says, rejoining Loki.  “So how much longer do I have to stay?”

“Have you reached your family cheer saturation point?” Loki asks.

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry.  We only need to stay another two or three hours.”

ooo

They eat way too much food.  They exchange dull smalltalk with all the family members.  Tony explains at least a dozen times who he is and what he does.  Great-uncle somebody repeatedly asks how are they related again?  They sing Christmas carols, though Jane, not Thor, plays the piano, because she actually knows how.  Somebody passes around a tray of paper cups of eggnog.  Tony gets caught up in a large herd of men all going outside to smoke a cigar, none of whom seems to notice how damn cold it is.  Thor and Fandral’s friend Volstagg falls asleep on the sofa and ends up with tinsel braided into his hair by ‘the twins’ (of unknown origin).  Somebody spills half a can of Sprite on the cat.  A child (again of unknown origin) dissolves into a fit of tears and has to be taken home.

Finally, when Tony’s on the verge of going to sit out in the car and probably freeze to death just to get some peace and quiet, Loki says they can leave.

They take the truck, which, according to Loki, is fine, because Thor’s drunk anyway and will either go home with Jane or pass out in Fandral’s basement.  “D o you feel infinitely more fulfilled for having experienced a family Christmas party?” Loki asks on the drive home.

“It was an experience,” says Tony.  And Loki just laughs.

And then comes another first.

In all of Tony’s years of dating, or whatever it’s called when you sleep with somebody once and then never call them again, he’s never simply... sat and talked.  Like grown-ups.  Instead of immediately flinging clothes aside and falling into bed.  But the minute they walk through the door, the only clothing Loki takes off is his outerwear.  Then he turns on the tree lights, gets a fire going in the fireplace, and heads to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

Thus Tony, fairly certain he’s not supposed to go to bed but unsure of what to do otherwise, awkwardly sits on the sofa and waits for Loki to do whatever it is Loki’s doing.

“Tea?” Loki calls from the kitchen.

“Uh... sure,” Tony answers.

A few minutes later, he appears with two mugs.  “Chamomile,” he says.

That sounds like a name Tony should recognize, so he doesn’t question it further.  “Thanks.”

Then Loki puts on a record – a real, old-fashioned, vinyl record – of instrumental Christmas music, and sits down next to him.  As if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

It probably is, for functioning adults with actual reasonable lives.

“So,” Loki says after a moment’s pause and a sip of tea.

“Yep,” Tony replies, for lack of anything better.  And when Loki makes no attempt to further the conversation, he goes for the classic tactic of stating the obvious.  “You have a record player.”

“Mm.  Yes.  Between my parents and my grandparents I think we have about fifty Christmas records, and somehow every year I’m sucked into listening to them.  I like a lot of the old, traditional music, and some of this stuff you can’t find anywhere else.”

“No YouTube playlists for you, huh?”

Loki turns to him with a sly smile.  “Oh, I make playlists.  In fact I made one for Thor earlier this year.  He wanted something to listen to on his phone in the truck, and told me, since I was so much better on a computer than he is, that I should make him something.”

“But the way you’re evilly smiling, should I assume it was all the worst Christmas songs the 80s and 90s had to offer?”

“I’m not that awful,” Loki says.  He takes a sip of tea.  “It was twenty different versions of ‘Do You hear What I hear’.”

Tony grins.  “Including Johnny Mathis, I hope.”

“Well obviously that one went first, because it’s the best, being from-”

“Gremlins.”

“Exactly.”

Leaning back, Tony tries his own tea.  It’s not bad.  Not much flavor, but after the party and its overabundance of food, flavor isn’t exactly something he’s actively looking for.  “What are we listening to, anyway?”

“Robert Shaw Chorale.  They were big in my grandparents’ day.  I assume, based on the fact that this record was a staple when I was growing up.  This and Raffi’s Christmas.”

“Huh.”

“My parents bought that the year Thor was born.  For his first Christmas.  But I suppose a record was too inconvenient to repeatedly play for small children, because all I remember, from when I was very young, is the tape they made.  With Raffi’s Christmas on one side, and Robert Shaw Chorale on the other.  And every year when we were decorating the tree, we had to put on the Raffi’s Christmas tape.  Thor and I still do.”

“You still have a tape player.”

“Tony, I think we still have an _eight track_ player somewhere around here.”

“Amazing.  I don’t even think I have a CD player any more.”

“Not even in your computer?”

“Nope.”

“Terrible.  Just terrible.”

Another sip of tea, but this time, Loki sinks farther down into his seat, slouching to the side and... leaning against Tony’s shoulder.  Not heavily.  Just a little lean.  A little touch.  Enough to be there, but not much more.  And he takes another sip of tea.

“Hey, um, Loki...” Tony starts, but falters.

“Hm?” Loki prompts

He has to ask.  Might as well get it over with.  “Are we... uh...”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”  He nods, even though that answer really does nothing to address the squirming in his stomach or the rapid beating of his heart.  But realistically... what else should he expect?  What else could Loki possibly say?  What else should _he_ say, or do?

It’s just that ‘I don’t know’ leaves things too open.  Which usually he wants.  This should be ideal, shouldn’t it?  A wishy-washy, no-commitment situation that has a guaranteed expiry date of 3pm on December 26th?

Loki takes a sudden, sharp breath.  “It’s not that I...” he says, trailing off.

Oddly, for as little sense as that incomplete sentence makes, Tony agrees.  “Yeah.”

Silently, Loki leans more heavily against him.  And this feels like as good a time as any to casually drape his arm across Loki’s shoulders.

He should kiss Loki.  He really should.  It would be the perfect opportunity, in the quiet house, next to the softly glowing Christmas tree, in front of a crackling fire, with Thor gone.  He could kiss Loki.  He could.  He _should_.

But on the other hand, in the quiet house, next to the softly glowing Christmas tree, in front of the crackling fire, with Thor gone... it’s also a perfect opportunity to simply keep doing exactly what they’re doing.  To keep simply being together in a way that somehow feels more profoundly intimate than anything else.  He can tighten his hold, and Loki can move a bit closer and they can just sit.  Without having to say a single thing.

He drops his head to rest his cheek against Loki’s hair.  To feel its softness on his skin.  And slowly, Loki’s hand moves over to rest on his leg, just above his knee.

It’s a first time for this, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I wanted to post this yesterday to keep on track, but I had to drive seven hours east for Christmas Reasons, and there have been family shenanigans ever since. So. We'll see if I can still get to the next one tomorrow, and reply to all y'all's lovely comments on the last chapter. :|
> 
> Also, if anybody wants to check out [Loki's playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5iIQf02e4m4H-zYdDPMx7uj4JCNmXiJ6&fbclid=IwAR2yJ0YYy1bw2VDIngDwdWzrqi6WLX0QH5fUGBQg3px65xkRZUCbYWqw9iM)...


	5. WAKE UP, IT'S CHRISTMAS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, I apologize for the delay in getting this chapter posted! Some Massive Shit went down just after Christmas that totally threw me off everything, and now I'm trying to get back on track. So here we go. I'll try to have the last chapter posted by the end of the weekend as well. :)

Somehow, Tony wakes up in bed, next to Loki, completely clothed.

Well, to be honest, it’s not ‘some’ how.  He knows exactly how it happened.  Thor came home, loudly drunk at three in the morning, while he and Loki were still on the sofa.  The story was Thor walked.  Two miles.  Through the insane cold.  And after a yelling lecture from Loki about how he endangered his life doing something so stupid, how he could have easily stumbled into the snow and died after drunkenly deciding to just go to sleep right there, Thor laughed it off and tottered up the stairs.

It set Loki off on a long and involved rant of listing all the ridiculous things he has to deal with, living with Thor.  Thor has almost killed himself at least twenty times doing idiotic things while drunk, Loki explained as he put out the fire.  Thor forgets to water the plants, he said as they went up the stairs. Thor always leaves half an inch of milk in the carton and puts it back in the fridge without getting a new one from the other fridge in the basement, he told Tony as they sat on the end of Tony’s bed.  Thor throws his underwear in the washing machine with Loki’s pillowcases.  Thor never puts the plastic tab back on the bread bag.  Thor doesn’t know how to load the dishwasher efficiently.  Thor still wears jeans from 2001.  Thor eats enough for four people and one time their grocery bill was two hundred dollars for one week.  Thor doesn’t know how to pronounce ‘LaCroix’.

At some point, Tony lay down, and at some point, Loki lay down beside him, still complaining about how Thor thinks it’s fine to fart indiscriminately around the house.  And then it was morning.  And they were in their clothes, on top of the blankets, cuddled together for warmth.

Somehow, Thor is already awake and cheerful when they head downstairs.  And this one really is a ‘some’ how mystery, because he was barely sober enough to make it up to his bedroom when he came home, and by all rights should have a raging hangover.  But instead, he’s cooking bacon and eggs.

“It’s Christmas Eve!” he announces while handing plates of breakfast to Tony and Loki.

“I know,” Loki humorlessly answers.  “I have a chocolate advent calendar that’s already told me so.”

Undeterred, Thor turns to Tony.  “Christmas festival today in town.”

That sounds like something Tony has to go to.  Luckily he’s used to having to go to things by now and can put on a bland smile and nod with ease.  And as anticipated, in the early afternoon, they all dress in their winter gear and pile into Thor’s truck again.  Tony doesn’t ask why they don’t take Loki’s Escalade, which has enough adult-sized seats for everyone.  He’s fairly certain that if it were a viable option Loki would’ve brought it up already, so there has to be a reason.  Probably related to the long list of Thor’s faults Loki recently enumerated.

Either it’s a little warmer outside, or Tony’s growing used to the cold as they park and walk to the square in front of town hall.  “No, it’s warmer,” Loki tells him.  “It warmed up overnight.  Only minus sixteen today.”

“Oh, wow, only,” Tony says.  He ducks his head down so his face is mostly covered by his scarf, and stuffs his hands into his pockets.  Thus turtled safely inside his coat and further protected from the weather by the thick, wool sweater he borrowed from Loki, being outside is bearable.

“I’m going to go on ahead and check in with some people,” Thor says to both of them.  “I’ll find you later.”

Watching him go, Tony bumps Loki with his elbow.  “This is another opportunity for him to make sure we’re alone together, isn’t it?”

 “Yes, but I’m not complaining.”

“Is this where we drink coco and go skating?”

Loki raises an eyebrow at him.  “What?”

“Nothing.  Just something my assistant said the other day.”

“I mean, we _can_ do both those things, if you want.  There’s at least one cocoa stand, and a skating rink behind the town hall that rents out skates.”

“No thanks.”  Actually.  “Well.  Maybe cocoa would be nice.  A warm drink is appealing right now.”

“Hot mulled wine?”

“Even better.”

The little hut selling mulled wine is situated at the end of a row of other little huts selling cookies, cakes, waffles, and other seasonal foods.  And if Tony thought Asgard was quaint before... that was nothing compared to the level of festivity that’s now exploded all around him.  More tinsel, more greenery, more lights, more bows, more wreaths, more holiday cheer.  Almost everyone seems to be wearing at least one piece of red clothing.  Including Loki, who’s swapped his usual gray scarf for red and green plaid.

“Now,” Loki says, passing him a mug of steaming wine with a slice of orange and a cinnamon stick.  “These mugs are incredibly rare, limited edition, so you can tell all your friends back in New York.  They only make two hundred of them every year, and they always sell out.”

“Ooh, a souvenir mug.”  On the mug, there’s a caricature drawing of the town hall, surrounded by shepherds, angels, and animals.  A small banner reading ‘Asgard 2018’ floats off to the left.  “I’m taking this to the office so I can subtly brag to all my office underlings about my exotic Christmas vacation.”

“I’m sure they’ll be very envious.  Do you want a potato cake?”

They only had lunch a little over an hour ago, but Tony can smell the potato frying and even if he’s not hungry, it’s not as if he doesn’t want one.  So they have potato cakes.  And then they have waffles.  And then they have cookies.  And then they have cookies shaped like waffles.  And then they have a variety pack of jerky made from all different animals that Tony didn’t even know could be made into jerky form (including fish).  And then Tony has to sit down because his stomach hurts, so they refill their wine mugs and rest on the bench by the town hall skating rink.

“And this is a town tradition?” he asks Loki.  “This Christmas Eve festival every year?”

“Mm.”  Loki nods while sipping his wine.  “Every year.  It’s usually the same food vendors and people selling handicrafts, and the stage set up in the park over there.  It’ll have children putting on little performances.  Plays and songs they rehearsed in school.  The church choir will sing, and a few local musicians will perform.  Around four Thor will give his speech as mayor, and he draws the names for the raffle winners.”

“What kind of prizes are there?”

If there were a wrong question to ask in this kind of light-hearted conversation, that would be it.  Even with no physical cues, the mood seems to shift instantly as Loki looks off at nothing in particular.  “I don’t know,” he says after a moment.  “Thor’s been quiet about it this year, but not in a fun, secretive way.  Usually the raffle is a decent moneymaker for the town council and covers a fair portion of the festival expense.  In previous years he used to excitedly tell me that his friend Hogun at the hardware store was able to donate a new snowblower, or the travel agent gave a five hundred dollar flight voucher, or the grocery store offered a gift card.  But it seems as if every year the whole town’s finances are tighter and tighter.  Hogun’s business is barely scraping by.  The travel agency closed a few months ago.  I know the grocery store still donated a gift card, because Thor did mention that to me last week, but I don’t know about anything else.”

In the absence of any words of wisdom he could possibly offer, Tony just nods.  He feels sorry for asking, but at the same time, shielding oneself from reality never did anyone any good.

“Anyhow,” Loki continues.  “I don’t mean to burden you with our problems, so let’s turn back to more pleasant topics.  Are you sure you don’t want to try skating?”

“Am I sure I don’t want to repeatedly fall flat on my ass?” Tony asks.

“Falling on your ass is preferable to falling on your knees.  But point taken.  Look at what’s for sale, then?”

“Sure.  Maybe I can find a souvenir pen to go with my mug and really drive the office wild with envy.”

“I don’t think there’s a pen booth, but you should be able to find a variety of Christmas ornaments and handmade soaps.”

That’s what the first booth on the merchant row turns out to be: locally produced soaps and bath products.  And lo and behold, he ends up buying a few, because suddenly, surrounded by all this oversaturation of holiday charm, the Amazon gift card he has scheduled to email out to Pepper at midnight seems a little disingenuous.  At the next booth he gets her a wooden Christmas ornament of rabbit on skis.  A few down, he picks up a knit hat, knowing that all of this is stuff she would love.

“How much money have you spent?” Loki asks him as they pass the jam booth and he accepts a sample of blackberry spread on a cookie.

“I don’t know,” he says.  Realistically, the answer is more like ‘seventy dollars’.  “I think this is... the most Christmas I’ve ever done.”

“I see Thor up ahead.  Do you want to keep shopping?”

“Nah, we can go see Thor.”  Except.  “Actually wait, I want this jam.  It’s really good.”

So he buys a ten dollar jar of jam that’s going turn into a forty dollar jar of jam once he factors in the cost of checking his suitcase at the airport because a jar of jam can’t go as carry-on.

Thor smiles as they meet up with him near the ice sculpture display, and greets them in his usual overtly friendly way.  Though if Tony had to critique the interaction, he’d say Thor’s perpetual good mood seemed a little forced.  A little too obvious, and then quick to fade.

Loki, who probably never misses anything, asks the critical question.  “How are the raffle sales?”

Thor’s smile stays firmly, fakely, in place.  “It’s going... a little slower than I would like, but I’m confident things will pick up.”

“How much so far?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I can’t remember the exact count.”

“How much, Thor?”

Thor looks away and shuffles his feet against the snowy pavement.  “Maybe... a little under... two thousand...”

“ _Under_ two thousand,” Loki sharply echoes.

“Almost twelve hundred.”

“Almost twelve hundred is significantly _under_ two thousand!”

“Yes, but-”

“Thor, you know the budget is relying on a minimum raffle sales income of twenty-two hundred!  If we don’t reach that-”

“I know!” Thor snaps, finally dropping the good-natured act.  “I know.  But we still have-”

“Less than an hour until the draw.  You think the sales will double in the next hour?”

Sighing, Thor stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks down at the ground.  “We may just have to find the money somewhere else.  Borrow from next year’s budget.  Cut back on some things.”

Loki doesn’t even need to say out loud what he thinks of that idea.  The unimpressed expression on his face says it all.

“What are... uh...” Tony sneaks in, trying to mitigate the tension.  “What are the prizes?”

“I can show you,” says Thor, clearly trying to sound cheerful but not quite making it all the way there.  “Follow me.”

It’s not a far walk: Thor leads them to the other side of the square, where a few church basement type folding tables have been set up to display the prizes.  All things donated by local families and businesses.  The grocery store gift card Loki mentioned.  A pair of hand knit mittens.  A few books.  A drill.  A coupon for a free oil change.  “What’s the grand prize?” Tony asks.

“Well,” says Thor.  “I thought the quilt over there on the end.  Mrs. Bergen makes one ever year for us.  But she was against the idea of her quilt being the big prize, because she thinks it’s not exciting enough.  But as you can see by looking at the rest of the items...”  He shakes his head.  “I guess it’ll have to be the grocery card.”

“Uh huh,” Tony replies.  And he has to admit: looking over the sparse selection of prizes doesn’t do much to entice him to buy tickets.  The sign explaining that the raffle is a key financial pillar in the success of the Christmas Eve Festival is a much more eye-catching than that brown hat with a local car dealership logo, making him more likely to toss in a pity twenty than actually buy tickets in hope of winning.  And he’s about to do just that when a different idea strikes him.

He turns to Thor.  “How about this,” he says.  “New grand prize for your raffle.  Something to get people interested: a three-night getaway for two in one of the deluxe suites at the Valhalla Lake Lodge once it opens, including a five hundred dollar restaurant credit.  Courtesy of Stark Developments.”

For a good long moment, Thor just stands there staring with his mouth gaping open.  “Tony, that’s... that’s far too much,” he finally manages to say.

“No, I think it’s pretty reasonable,” Tony insists.  “And add on a second prize of a one-night family suite stay for two parents and up to four kids.  I insist on four because my buddy Rhodey back home is from a family of four kids, and whenever he sees anything about two parents plus two kids he goes off on a rant about how this policy literally ruined his childhood because his parents never wanted to pay extra for the two additional kids.  I think his mom frequently made a scene about how a ‘family’ rate should cover the whole family.  Coincidentally, this is why he now hates amusement parks, and why I second-hand hate amusement parks from listening to him complain.  Anyway, you got that?  Three-night romantic getaway plus restaurant, and one-night kids go wild at the pool.  And let’s throw in a couple hundred-dollar restaurant certificates and a few family day passes for the pool as well.”

“I can’t accept this from you,” Thor says, shaking his head.

“It’s not from me.  It’s from my company, which I promise will not even notice the cost.”

“But-”

“Think of it this way,” says Tony.  “You need big-draw prizes for your raffle.  At the same time, I need good publicity for my resort.  I need something that’ll catch the attention of the local population in a favorable way.  Giving away these prize packages builds excitement.  We want to market the resort to a wide variety of clientele, from rich German tourists looking for a wilderness adventure to families within driving distance who just want a weekend away.  But that clientele will also include a lot of in-town people who maybe just want to visit for the day to use the pool or have a nice dinner out.  By giving away these prizes now, we get people thinking about the resort and looking forward to it opening.  They start to include it in their summer plans.  If Mary from down the street wins a pool package prize and takes her kids, then tells her friend Betty how much fun they had, then Betty starts thinking maybe she’ll have her son’s birthday party there.  You see how this ultimately benefits me?  People have positive thoughts about the resort, they visit, and they come back.  I make money.  We’re all happy.  Everyone wins.  But mostly me.  I’m actually being very self-centered here.”

Halfway convinced, but only halfway, Thor looks over at Loki.

“I don’t know why you need convincing, or why you’re looking at me,” Loki says.  “Tony’s made a completely reasonable argument as to why you should help him out by accepting these selfish prize donations and playing in to his marketing scheme.”

Thor turns back to Tony, still only halfway convinced.  “I you’re sure...”

“I’m sure.  Do you have a pen?  I can write out each prize on the back of one of my business cards for now.”

Thor shakes his head.  “No, but I think the Brenner Brothers Insurance booth over there is giving away free promotional pens.”

Tony elbows Loki in the arm.  “And you told me there wouldn’t be a pen booth.”

“I lie all the time and you probably shouldn’t trust anything I say,” Loki replies.  “But here’s what we should do.  The raffle draw is in less than an hour, so we need to work quickly.  Tony, go get your precious pen and write out those prize cards.  Thor, tell the stage show emcee to make an announcement about the additional prizes right after this act.”

“Right,” says Thor, finally perking up and starting to look excited.  “And I think I should grab a promotional lodge site poster from my office to display on the prize table.”

“Good idea,” Loki tells him.

And there goes Thor, off running – not walking, _running_ – up to the stage with instructions for the new prize announcement.  “You think this’ll work?” Tony asks as Loki escorts him to the insurance pen booth.

“It won’t hurt,” Loki says, shrugging.  “But as for whether or not it’ll work...  twelve hundred dollars means fewer than two hundred tickets have sold so far, and the festival attendance is usually around two thousand people.  So there are certainly more buyers to be found.  It’ll be a matter of the announcement reaching as many people as possible, and spreading the word of the new prizes.”

Tony pulls out a few business cards and begins quickly writing out prize details on the back, followed by his signature.  “If this works,” he asks, “does it mean I saved Christmas?”

“No,” Loki groans.

“Mm, I think it does.  I think I’m being a reverse Grinch right now.”

“How so?  By bestowing gifts and then, upon having a change of heart, taking them back?”

Tony looks up just so he can make a face at Loki.  “That’s not what I meant.  You’re being a butt.”

“That’s my job.”

“I thought your job was writing ridiculous adventure novels.”

“No, that’s only a hobby that happens to earn money.  My true purpose in life is to be a butt and annoy everyone.  You can ask Thor.”

“Not necessary.  I believe you.”  Finishing the last card, he hands them all to Loki.  “Okay, let’s go give these to Thor.  And save Christmas.  And then get more wine.  But most importantly, save Christmas.”

ooo

“Two thousand, six hundred sixty!” Thor announces as he bursts through the front door and then plants himself firmly in front of the sofa where Tony and Loki are sitting.  “Raffle sales doubled after the announcement of the new prizes.  You should have stayed for the draw!”

“Uh, well, I thought about it,” Tony replies, “but it turns out my tolerance for being outside is about two hours.  I got cold and had to come home.  We got a ride with your cousin Fandral.”

“He slipped on an icy patch in his useless New York shoes, and fell in the snow,” Loki says.  Which was exactly what Tony was trying to avoid telling Thor.

“Okay, yes, I did fall,” Tony admits.  “However, my reason for wanting to leave was that we’d been outside for almost two hours, and-”

Abruptly, Thor leans over, grabs him under the arms, and physically lifts him up into a bone-crushing hug.  And it takes a second for Tony, momentarily stunned into compliant non-squirminess, to recognize that this isn’t a comforting hug for having fallen in the snow.

“Tony, thank you,” Thor says, squeezing him just a bit tighter than is comfortable.  “Sincerely, thank you.  Without you today we wouldn’t have met the goal for ticket sales.  The festival ended on a wonderful note this afternoon, and it’s all thanks to you.”

Tony manages to turn his head just enough to look at Loki.  “Oh, so I _did_ save Christmas?”

“Very much so,” Thor answers, while Loki pretends not to acknowledge that.  “Which I think calls for a celebration.”  Abruptly, he lets go of the hug, causing Tony to stumble back and almost fall onto the couch.  “I have a bottle of champagne somewhere.  Let me go find it.”

“Wow, champagne in my honor,” Tony says as he sits back down next to Loki.  “I must be very important.”

“He’s trying to keep you.”

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“Well I _am_ an awesome catch, so that’s understandable.”

“Have you noticed that he hasn’t reminded you to fix the battery on your rental car yet?”

Tony nods.  “Huh.  I hadn’t thought about that, but I guess I have two more-”  He stops mid-sentence at a particularly problematic realization.   “Wait, it’s 6:30 on Christmas Eve.  The hardware store is probably closed.”

“It is,” Loki confirms.

“And everything’s going to be closed tomorrow, too.”

“It will be.”

“So how am I supposed to-”

Loki, leaning in, kisses him.  On the mouth, not exactly gently.  And it’s enough, in that moment, to make him forget whatever dumb thing he was saying in favor of simply kissing Loki back.  One hand winds around Loki’s back, and the other to Loki’s hair, and his tongue slips past Loki’s teeth as a tingling warmth blooms through his entire body.

“I’ll drive you to the airport if need be, you moron,” Loki murmurs against his lips.

“Okay,” he says, suddenly not caring about anything except pulling Loki closer.

Thor, grinning stupidly, comes back into the living room, sits down in the La-Z-Boy recliner, and pours three generous glasses of champagne.

ooo

The last time Tony can distinctly remember not being able to sleep on Christmas Eve, he was twelve years old, and he’d been praying to every mythical deity he could think of that he’d get up in the morning to see the computer he’d asked for sitting under the tree.  He did end up getting that computer because his parents usually got him everything he asked for.  But still, he remembers lying awake all night thinking about it, and then running downstairs at the crack of dawn as if his life depended on it.

This time, it’s a little different.

This time, he’s lying awake in Thor Odinson’s guest bedroom, with Loki sleeping next to him and and one of Loki’s arms haphazardly draped across his chest.  He can’t sleep.  He’s tried to sleep.  But every time he thinks he might be able to doze off, he remembers that he’ll be leaving Asgard in fewer than 36 hours.  He only has one more full day.  One more night.  Fewer than 36 hours left with Loki.  And then he’s heading back to New York.

He should be relieved to be going home, shouldn’t he?  He should be happy.  It’s what he wanted.  It’s what he panicked over and fought so hard for only a few days ago.  He should want to go home: back to his normal life of suits and taxis and having an intern bring him lunch and his blissfully empty apartment where he can play video games on a 75-inch TV.  He was living the dream.  Wasn’t he?

He rolls over to wrap both arms around Loki, who makes a groaning sound and shifts to lean against him.

“Aren’t you asleep yet?” Loki asks through a yawn.

“Can’t sleep,” Tony mutters

“Too excited for Christmas?”

“Something like that.”

He kisses Loki’s forehead, and his hairline, and inhales the clean scent of the basic grocery store shampoo he saw in the shower.  Which is not something he’d ever have thought would be sexy, but there it is.  Loki smells like Garnier Whole Blends coconut, and that’s as good as any damn legendary seasonal frankincense as far as Tony’s concerned.

“I didn’t get you a present,” Loki says, “in case that’s what you’re all excited about.”

Tony smiles.  “No.  And I didn’t get you a present, either.  But,” he says, dipping his head to kiss Loki’s eyelid, “I was thinking maybe I could give you one of those coupon books like kids make for their moms on Mother’s Day?  Except for something sexy like a full body massage.”

“I think being allowed the privilege of giving my glorious self an all-over body massage is more of a gift to _you_ ,” says Loki.

“Hm.  You’re probably right.”  His hand travels up and down the length of Loki’s spine. 

“What time is it?”

“I dunno.”  Fumbling for his phone on the bedside table, Tony finally manages to snag it without accidentally knocking it to the floor.  “Ugh.  Quarter after two.”

“Which means Thor should be banging on the door to wake us up in about three hours.”

Tony laughs at that.  Until he realizes Loki isn’t joking.  “Wait, he actually gets up at five am?  Is that another one of your Christmas traditions?”

“Mm, it’s the most important one,” Loki says, worming his way into a half-sitting position and propping himself up on one arm.  “Whichever one of us wakes up first, at some unreasonably early hour, has to go bang on the other’s door until they get up.  So we can go open presents as early as possible and be grouchy and sleep-deprived for the rest of the day.”

“Sounds awesome.”

“When we were kids, our parents had a strict rule that we couldn’t wake them up on Christmas morning before seven o’clock.  Of course we were overexcited little hellions who barely slept at all, so starting around six we’d be sitting in the hallway outside their bedroom door with our watches, impatiently counting down the seconds.   Now that they’re gone... the tradition has mutated somewhat.  Last year I set my alarm for five but Thor beat me by ten minutes.  This year I have my phone set for four-thirty, but I bet he’s done the same.  I should change it to four.”

“Why not three?” Tony asks.

“Now that’s just ridiculous.”

“Why not two?”

“It’s after two now.”

“Exactly.”

Slowly, an evil grin begins to stretch across Loki’s face, shadowed like a gargoyle in the faint moonlight.  “I suppose,” he says slowly, letting the words linger on his tongue, “it technically _is_ Christmas morning already.”

“It sure is.  My phone says so.”

“And Thor’s still asleep.”

“Seems like he is, yep.”

Loki’s grin reaches peak evilness.  “Not for long.”

It’s amazing, honestly, how quickly he can go from lying half-asleep in a messy blanket nest to jumping out of bed and pulling on the pajamas he left draped over the chair beside the dresser.  Tony, pausing only to briefly stretch, puts on his own clothes and follows Loki down to the end of the hallway.

Loki doesn’t even take a second to pause at Thor’s bedroom door before pounding on it four times with his fist and yelling, at the top of his lungs, “THOR, WAKE UP, IT’S CHRISTMAS!”

From inside the bedroom, Tony can hear muffled words that sounds like _Jesus, Loki,_ and a few choice bits of profanity.  A moment later, Thor throws the door open and switches on the hall light.

“Loki, it’s not even two thirty!” he hisses.

“It’s Christmas,” is all Loki says, still grinning like a goblin.

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“No, I’m very serious.  According to Tony’s phone, it’s now December twenty-fifth.”

“Two nineteen in the morning on December twenty-fifth,” Tony announces.  Scientifically.

“See?” says Loki.  “It’s Christmas.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Thor groans.

Loki pats him on the shoulder.  “It’s Christmas.  I’m going to start getting breakfast.  I trust you purchased the traditional box of Christmas Morning Corn Pops?”

Sighing, Thor rubs both hands over his eyes and down his face in the gesture of a man who knows he’s lost.  “Yes... it’s in the pantry.”

“Good.  Come on.  Downstairs.  I’ll make tea.  You plug in the tree lights.”

“I suppose,” Thor grumbles.  Yawning as he ties up the belt of his bathrobe, he pushes past Loki and heads for the stairs.

And Loki, looking immensely pleased with himself, hooks his arm through Tony’s .  “Merry Christmas Morning, Tony,” he says.

“Merry Christmas Morning,” Tony echoes back.  “This is a really stupid idea, isn’t it?”

Loki nods.  “I’m probably going to fall asleep at the kitchen table.”

“Me too.  My eyes feel gritty now that the light’s on.  But I guess we’re committed to being awake?”

“Absolutely.  Let’s go.  I’ll make you a bowl of Corn Pops.”

“That sounds awful, thanks.”

The plus side to being up at two am, Tony decides as they head downstairs, is that hours spent not sleeping are extra hours he has to spend with Loki before leaving.  The down side, of course, is that there’s a high chance of falling into an accidental nap at some inopportune time, staying asleep for way too long, and completely destroying any chance of following a reasonable schedule for the rest of the day.  But it’s probably worth the risk.


End file.
